


Becoming Watson and Holmes

by black_rose_blade



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eurus wants to squeeze Sherlock like a child wants to squeeze a cute bunny til its eyes pop out, Friends to Lovers, Jealous!John, John is confused, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Non-virgin Sherlock, Parent!lock, Post S4, Romance, Sherlock is tired of waiting for john, because he doesn't realize what's happening, but also dense John Watson, he should have that on a t-shirt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-01 09:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15771753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_rose_blade/pseuds/black_rose_blade
Summary: A short story about Sherlock and John finally getting together.





	1. Whoops

**Author's Note:**

> Not brit-picked or beta'd, little editing.  
> Enjoy!  
> ps. I have a new tumblr page. Follow me for updates on recent projects, stories, or hilarious fandom crap I reblog.  
> enjoy! I'm: blackr0s3blade . tumblr . com  
> don't forget to rease the spaces!  
> <3 -B  
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is entertaining and John needs a babysitter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter literally starts with smut. There will be smut a couple of the following chapters as well (not as many as I'd though originally but still). I hope this is obvious from the rating and the tags, but in case it wasn’t, ya been warned ma frands, ya been warned.

Sherlock grunts softly as he pushes back against the strong warm soft body behind him, his hands braced on his desk while the owner of that body grips his hips more forcefully than before.

“Yes! J–” Sherlock breathes, “–just like that. Fuck.”

The other man groans at the feeling of Sherlock’s tight ring of muscles squeezing around his achingly erect cock. He doesn’t respond to Sherlock’s soft exhales and breathy moans. Instead, he continues to slam into the warmth of that beautiful arse, kissing and nipping at Sherlock’s back while the pleasure overwhelms him.

Sherlock arches his back and grabs hold of the other man’s neck, pulling him closer against Sherlock’s form and revelling in the feel of the soft blonde hairs at the nape of his partner’s neck. Their bodies are slick with sweat and the air feels like it’s steaming around them. “Jjj~” A light hitch in his voice, “–Jjjjeeesus.” Sherlock moans as he feels a ripple of pleasure run through him after a particularly well-aimed thrust from his partner. The other man’s cock twitches inside him in response to Sherlock’s sensual groaning and grinding. He opens his mouth to bite down on Sherlock’s shoulder when suddenly Sherlock’s cell phone begins to ring.

At first, Sherlock ignores it and they continue to move against each other, the heat of the moment over powering them. The phone doesn’t stop ringing, however, and eventually Sherlock pats his partner’s thigh in irritation as he reaches towards his phone, “Hang on.” He growls. Sherlock picks up the obnoxious little machine and focuses on the name displayed on the screen. He flops forward on the desk and sighs in defeat as he answers the call while his partner behind him rolls his eyes in annoyance.

“Alright, John?” Sherlock asks, slightly worried, since John usually texts Sherlock rather than calling him, knowing Sherlock prefers not to have to speak on the phone like some old savage.

To Sherlock’s relief John answers him right away, “Yeah, hi, Sherlock. It’s nothing serious. Just can’t text very well with a wiggling toddler in my arms,”

“Ah, yes, of course.” Sherlock answers as his partner begins to move behind him again, a sly grin on his face. Sherlock glances at him over his shoulder, slightly annoyed, but not all together displeased. His partner continues as Sherlock hears John continue, completely oblivious to Sherlock’s situation without the ability to see him – “Yeah. Anyway, listen, I was wondering – Ouch! – Hold on,” Sherlock hears John rustling about and tries to concentrate on listening for his return while suppressing a groan at his partner’s deliberate movements behind him. “Rosie,” Sherlock hears John say, “sweetie, don’t pull daddy’s hair.” Sherlock shudders at the combined pleasure of hearing John’s voice, even if it isn’t speaking to him directly, while Sherlock is currently being fucked from behind. “Thank you, darling,” John says to Rosie on his end, then his voice returns, much clearer this time, “Sorry. She’s a little cranky. We’ve had a bit of a rough morning.”

Sherlock leans his head down on his arm and breathes deeply before responding in as normal a tone as possible, “It’s not a problem. Anything I can do to help?”

John seems to hesitate, “Well, um, yes actually, if you’re sure.”

“Of course, John, I’m ever at your disposal.” Sherlock responds. His partner pinches his ass to grab his attention. Sherlock turns to glare at him just as the man gives him a sour little pout. ‘Don’t stop!’ Sherlock mouths, annoyed as John answers, “Great! Thanks, Sherlock. You’ve really saved us. You’re sure you’ve not got anything on?”

“Nothing in particular, John, I assure you. What do you need?”

“Ah, well, I’m bringing Rosie over right now, actually. Sorry, I would have texted you earlier, but, well, I was calling a few others and then I was running out of time so I just got on the tube... Look I didn’t want to bother you with this but it seems like you’re our last hope. Do you think you could watch her for me? At least until Mrs. Hudson gets back from her errands? I don’t want to be late to work today and–“

Sherlock barely stifles a gasp as John speaks. _John is on his way over? Right **now**? With Watson?! **Fuck!**_ “Sh –“ Sherlock almost says ‘shit’ but quickly covers up, “Sure, John,” He stutters, “I’d be happy to. E. T. A?” He asks.

“Good, um that’s good, yeah it’s about, oh, three minutes, maybe?” John speaks as he tries to look out to the street to assure himself of his location.

‘Three minutes! Dammit John!’ Sherlock mentally hisses.

At Sherlock’s silence John asks, worriedly, “Is that okay?”

Sherlock mentally shakes himself, no longer preoccupied with his partner’s actions, pleasurable as they may be.

“Nope, that’s fine. Three minutes is perfectly fine. I’ll see you soon John.” Sherlock says, hoping his voice doesn’t betray his sudden panic.

“Thanks Sherlock, see you.” Sherlock hears John say just as he presses the button to hang up and tosses his phone down and quickly tries to turn and push his partner off.

“You need to get out.” Sherlock says as the man pulls out, a slightly disappointed yet sly grin on his face as he asks Sherlock in return,

“Boyfriend coming home then?”

            “No, but you need to leave.” Sherlock says firmly, reaching down and grabbing the man’s trousers. He tosses them lightly at the man’s head.

            The other catches them easily but answers in disbelief, “What, like right now? And just what am I supposed to do with _this_?” He says, gesturing down, playfully.

            Sherlock doesn’t look amused, “Yes _now_. Don’t care. You’ll sort it out. Out, _now_!” He says, tossing another piece of clothing at the naked man.

The man doesn’t move to put the garments on, opting instead to move forward, placing his free hand gently on Sherlock’s cheek and smirking. He looks at Sherlock from under his lashes through warm hazel eyes and gestures down towards Sherlock’s own swollen cock, “And how are you going to hide _that_ from him?”

            Sherlock stares at the man with a carefully blank expression, “Not your problem,” He says flatly, “I’m not going to say it again – _Out!_ ” The last word is practically a growl, all teeth and fury.

            “Alright, alright, geez, I’m going.” The man finally relents, pulling away from Sherlock as he puts his clothes on. Sherlock turns away from him, pulling his own pajama bottoms on along with a soft shirt and walks over to the window. He opens it and quickly lights a cigarette, leaning his head out to smoke. “Is it always going to be like this with you?” He hears the other man ask him.

            “Always?” Sherlock inhales after asking the question, turning his head slightly towards the man to give him a questioning glance.

            “Too bold of me to assume we’d be doing this again?” His … ‘ _friend_ ’ asks.

            Sherlock turns back towards the window and exhales a large cloud of smoke. “Yes.” He answers simply.  
            The other man watches him with a wistful look in his eyes, “Ah. Sorry,” He says, zipping up his trousers, “I guess I just rather hoped you’d be willing to help me finish what we’d started… you know, some other time.”

            Sherlock stubs out his cigarette and tosses it outside as he spots the bus that should be carrying John and Rosie in it. “Not happening.” He responds, then adds, as an afterthought, “Bye.”

            The other man gives Sherlock a meek smile as he opens the door to exit, “Well, alright, I understand, but, er, you have my number, you know, in case you change your mind,” he says. He pulls on his maroon leather jacket over the tight white t-shirt he’d just put on and walks down the stairs.

            “Unlikely,” Sherlock calls down to him, though he sounds somewhat playful.

            The man rolls his eyes slightly in fondness and waves shyly at John and Rosie as they enter 221B while he makes his way to the exit. “Bye.” He mumbles.

             John stares in confusion at the man, _thought Sherlock said he wasn't busy?_ “Um… bye?” he answers, looking up at the stairs. “Guess uncle Sherlock had a visitor?” John whispers to Rosie as the door clicks shut behind him leaving John and Rosie alone at the foot of the steps.

            “SHEWAHH!” Rosie shouts suddenly in recognition, and John laughs, “Hi Sherlock!” He joins in shouting, “We’re here!”

 

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as i said, I don't know what the original plan was for this but I have some notes i made after re-reading it about what it can become (yes I said that on purpose ;P) and hopefully I can pull it off. I dunno. We'll see. As I said in my notes for In Pursuit, though, I am starting school soon and life has definitely been a bitch to me recently so I'll see just how much of these tow stories i can manage to type up for you guys properly with like, grammar and descriptions and plots and shit. Hopefully. I dunno I'm an artist, not a writer, scottie.  
> Anyway. TTYL!


	2. John’s thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John thinks about Sherlock on his way to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing much in this chapter, just some insight into John’s mind.

“Door’s open!” Sherlock calls down. He quickly picks up his discarded robe from earlier. He rushes into his room to quickly change from his pj’s to a fresh pair of pants and jeans. He leaves his t-shirt on along with his robe, though, and roughly tousles his curls, hoping he looks more like he’s not bothered with his looks rather than a debauched mess. He’s glad his jeans will do a better job of hiding his waning erection.

 

When Sherlock returns to the living room John is already putting Rosie down on the carpet with a few toys and placing her bag on the coffee table. “Watson,” Sherlock greets them, “smaller Watson.”

 

“Smaller Watson?” John questions with an amused quirk of his own lips.

 

Sherlock just grins cheekily in response.

 

“Shewah!” Rosie interrupts, laughing delightedly and reaching for him. Sherlock happily sweeps her up into his arms in response.

 

“Sherrrrrlock.” He corrects, knowing she won’t say it right for another few months yet, but encouraging her to try anyway. She simply giggles and grabs his face, requesting an Eskimo kiss, and Sherlock - unable to resist, complies.

 

John watches them fondly, his heart filling up with warmth at the tender sight. “She’ll get it right eventually.” He says, and when Sherlock turns to look at him, still smiling, “Thanks again for this, Sherlock.” He hesitates, “and um... sorry about the client.”

 

Sherlock has turned his face back towards Rosie as he allows her to cover him in slobbery toddler kisses, but his brow wrinkles in slight confusion at John’s words, “Client?” He asks quietly, still looking at Rosie.

 

“Yeah? Er, the man that was just leaving?” John responds as he walks to the door, “boring case?”

 

“Oh,” Sherlock responds, distracted, “no that was just...” he hesitates slightly but recovers quickly, flashing John a quick smile, “Well nothing interesting. Just a neighbor.”

 

This response gives John pause, “A... neighbor? Since when d’you talk to our neighbors?” He inquires, turning slightly to ask the question, a look of disbelief in his eyes.

 

Sherlock says nothing for a while. He opts to sit on the sofa with Rosie, handing her a stuffed pink elephant and buzzing a large stuffed bee in her direction, making her coo in interest instead before he answers: “Hmm. Needed some help.“

 

John has his hand on the door now, about to leave before the words sink in. Help? Sherlock never asks for help. What could he possibly...? “Help?” He asks.

 

“Oh.” Sherlock comes to the realization that the statement is strange to John - that he has admitted that he’s asked for help with something (though he doesn’t know why John is surprised, he asks people for help all the time)- and he schools his face into a passive yet pleasant expression, “Yes, nothing serious,” and because he can’t resist the innuendo, knowing it’ll go completely over John’s head, “just thinking of putting up some shelves.”

 

John eyes him suspiciously but doesn’t respond. Finally he opens the front door, realizing that he’s already running late to work and choosing not to pursue the subject further. “Well, alright. I’ll see you two later then.” He waves at them as he leaves, “Bye-Bye, Rosie, be good.”

 

Sherlock grins again, “Later, John,” and taking Rosie’s little hand he instructs, “Watson, wave goodbye to your father.”

 

Rosie obeys happily, waving with Sherlock, “Bah-bye Dada!”

 

 

—-

 

John takes a cab to the clinic. Now that he’s no longer worried about Rosie, however, he finds his mind wandering to his best friend. He’d said he needed help putting up some shelves? It‘s odd, thinking about Sherlock doing something as mundane as re-decorating, but he supposes Sherlock does have his own tastes. After all, Sherlock was the one who had brought in all of their weird mis-matched furniture, curtains and other Knick-knacks to the flat in the first place. Still it was odd of him to invite the man when he was merely thinking about redecorating. Maybe he works in interior design? John can’t picture Sherlock hiring someone to redesign the space but John decides to shrug it off. Who could ever claim to know what goes on in Sherlock’s head anyway? (Well, besides Mrs. Hudson.) Probably he just needs to make more space for his ever-expanding collection of science equipment. He smiles inwardly, thinking about the fact that the collection has recently expanded to include children’s chemistry sets as well. Sherlock’s enthusiasm for teaching Rosie is heartwarming. John never thought he’d get so attached to her, especially since they were so distant from each other in her early years of life, for a variety of reasons.

 

The doctor tries to shake the grey cloud of depressing thoughts away. He can see the clinic up ahead and he doesn’t want to be distracted while he works, but the thoughts pass over the surface of his mind anyway.

 

It has been just over a year since all the horrible business with Culverton and Eurus. John is still guilty about the beating he dealt to Sherlock and the easy way with which his friend seemed to forgive him. Sherlock has always had a great and noble heart. He’s proved it time and time again. John recalls the conversation he’d once had with Mycroft about Sherlock’s kindness. “My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?” At the time John hadn’t known what Mycroft had meant. Sherlock cared for people, in his own way and his capacity for kindness was a great one. After all, choosing to use his gifted mind to solve crimes and help provide justice certainly says something about who Sherlock really is. Sherlock has even forgiven Eurus for her misgivings because he cares for her. He continues to visit his sister to this day. How often he does so is a mystery to John, but he can always tell when Sherlock has seen her. His eyes always seem glassy after a visit with The East Wind, like he’s in a far-off place, a solemn cloud following him. John doesn’t stay over long on those days, not unless he’s with Rosie, as she seems to be the only thing that ever rises Sherlock out of his depressions. Her or a case anyway. John has tried, but his meddling always seems to just irritate Sherlock further. He sighs. He’s been an awful friend to Sherlock ever since he returned, so he’s not entirely surprised that Sherlock doesn’t want him around during those difficult moments. John doesn’t bother with wishing he could take things back though. He just continues to try to do better and to respect Sherlock’s boundaries when he makes it clear he doesn’t want them crossed.

 

The cab has stopped now and John is at last liberated from his thoughts. He pays the man and finally makes his way inside the clinic. He spares one last thought to his personal life, hoping Sherlock truly doesn’t mind having been saddled with unexpected baby-sitting duties for a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so... John is an idiot. I love him, but he’s so dumb?? Like? Bruh?? Really??? You’re so dumb??
> 
> This one is short but hopefully the next one is longer. I’ve got part of it down already. Hopefully I can add more in the coming days before I start school again.


	3. On Love: Agape and Eros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some insight into Sherlock’s emotional state and what he’s been up to.  
> Also Rosie is cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is going to be posted sooner than I thought. Just a warning - erm don’t expect this all the time? I’m terrible with keeping a schedule for posting but I’ll do my best. As usual, no beta or Brit-picker.
> 
> Ps. I edited the title. If anyone recognizes my weeb reference... I’m sorry.

 

It’s hours since John left for the clinic and Sherlock has just put Rosie down for nap when he goes through the messages on his phone. Not a single promising case today, but he has received a couple of texts from John thanking him for the photographs of Rosie he’d sent earlier (there had been a messy yet adorable ordeal with her lunch today) and one from his morning visitor. The latter read: “I know you said unlikely, but I’m texting you anyway, because unlikely is not a no. At the very least I can say thanks even if things didn’t end the way I would have wanted. See you around, pretty-boy ;) - Josh.” 

 

Sherlock rolls his eyes at the pet-name. He isn’t going to dignify that text with an answer, but the attention does make him preen a bit. After all, it’s been years since anyone (other than Janine) has called him pretty and as the years get on he feels his age beginning to catch up to him. His hair is beginning to grey in some areas and the wrinkles on his face become ever more pronounced as the days go on. Sherlock sags into the sofa, lying down with the arm holding his phone over his eyes. He let the years pass by him so quickly and didn’t even give himself a chance to enjoy them. No, instead he spent them waiting around and pining away his heart like a Shakespearean maiden to man he would never ever have.

The realization that John Watson would never love him the way Sherlock loved him had hit him hard - literally. It took John actually beating some sense into him to realize it, because while yes, John had saved him in the end and though they were still friends (Sherlock couldn’t imagine not being his friend), Sherlock had given up on the notion that John would ever see him as anything more than that. Sherlock feels like he’s a bit old to be looking into having a relationship, however, and his lifestyle certainly isn’t for everyone. He’d thought he’d made it quite clear to Josh that their encounter wouldn’t be repeated but he couldn’t fault the man for looking for hope in Sherlock’s (admittedly somewhat flirtatiously vague) response earlier. He exhales in a huff. He’s thought about it really hard over the years and he’s decided not to waste any more time or effort on his romantic notions. He should really not encourage what’s-his-name to continue texting him. Sherlock doesn’t have time to think about the other man’s emotions. He's still figuring out his own feelings, after all. Sherlock is no expert, but if he's gong to seek out a relationship he should probably wait until he's recovered from John. As he is now, he's not sure he's quite ready to give his heart away again.  

 

Ever since Eurus Sherlock has decided to start exploring himself emotionally and physically. He’s realized that shutting down his emotions as he’d been doing before is not healthy for him and that suppressing his desires is equally harmful. Eurus has helped with that, in her own way. She has shown him what free reign of his emotions could do to him and to others. He always feels drained when he visits her for that reason. Eurus, unlike Mycroft, to put it mildly, is extremely mischievous (read: chaotic). She encourages Sherlock to free himself emotionally through their music and also through short conversations.

 

“I’m using this because you understand this. It’s easier to understand each other, don’t you think?” She tells him one day, when Sherlock goes to visit her alone rather than with the family. It doesn’t happen often, him seeing her alone, as Mycroft is still worried she might decide she still wants Sherlock dead. To be fair to him the sentiment is valid because on the same day Eurus has said that she had also said, “You’re teaching me as much as I’m teaching you. We’re learning together. That’s funny isn’t it? I have a funny feeling inside me when you’re here. It’s warm and soft like you - like your insides. Sometimes when you come here, I itch all over and I just want to tear you apart and crawl inside your skin while you’re still warm.”  


 

Sherlock had let that comment appear as if it skated off him (though it had given him nightmares for weeks after she’d said it), and had instead smiled and said, “I love you too, sister. Shall we play?”

 

Eurus had beamed like an innocent child, more than happy to play some music with her older brother. They’d played for hours that day, until suddenly tears had begun to stream from her eyes. Eurus had cried and cried and cried, finally telling Sherlock that she was tired and needed to rest. Sherlock had raised a hand to the glass in front of them, beckoning her to come close for their goodbye ritual. She had pressed her hand to the glass as usual and her forehead as well waiting for Sherlock to kiss the glass between them in a goodbye. He did so, with a slight sadness filling him in sympathy for his confused little sister.

 

Weeks later when he’d gone to see her again (he hadn’t dared see her on days he was still having nightmares about her, she’d have deduced it right away, and he'd been worried about her reaction), she had beamed at him once more.

 

“I’ve missed you,” he’d said.

 

“Is that what it’s called? This longing to see you? I suppose it is, isn’t it? Was it the thing about the skin?” Of course by not seeing her she’d deduced she’d frightened him anyway, “I thought it would have made you laugh. I did say it was a funny feeling, didn’t I? As I understand it when something is funny it makes people laugh.”

 

“Bit not good, sister.” He’d said, using the same line John had used on him when they’d first started living together (and that he sometimes still uses if he feels Sherlock is being insensitive).

 

“Morality is boring.” She’d answered. “You’re still a virgin.” She’d said immediately after.

 

Sherlock had blushed at her frankness, mainly because he wasn’t expecting her to comment on this again and especially not now.  Where had that even _come_ from? But he'd learned not to question Eurus' trains of thought by now. Her mind was faster than his own. Surely by now the observation she'd made that had brought about the comment will have been forgotten. “I wrote you another piece.” He’d answered instead, choosing not to acknowledge her odd statement. He had played for her a piece he’d written meant to explain that his fear from her comment of last week didn’t weaken his affection for her.

 

She’d danced happily the whole time he played and when he’d finished she’d played a song for him in return. “I love you.” It said. “I love you so much I can’t stand it.” The song was so beautiful it had almost made him weep. It was sad, and confused and so full of a longing for forgiveness and affection but wild and destructive at the same time. Eurus felt so strongly that she didn’t know what to do with herself. It was heartbreaking. Sherlock understood all too well. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He’d promised, encouraged to come see her again by her song.

 

She had kissed the glass where his palm rested and said, with a smirk, “No. Come next week. Go have sex instead. You’ll like it.”

 

He’d laughed and said, simply, “Goodnight sister.”

 

She’d been bugging him on and off ever since and finally he’d cracked. At first he’d wondered why she was so adamant, but then, one evening after a particularly long case, Sherlock had found himself in John’s home as they both made sure to relieve the poor nanny of her duties. They’d checked on the sleeping baby and had then left to sit in the living room and have a few drinks and watch telly while still occasionally giggling about the crime scene they had left every time they caught a glimpse of each other’s eyes. Sherlock had felt his throat suddenly restrict with longing and Eurus’ words and song had come to mind. ‘Fine,’ he’d told mind-palace-Eurus, ‘I’ll go have sex as soon as I’m able, but just so you know, you are simultaneously a genius and the absolute worst.’ Mind-palace-Eurus had simply laughed. He was sure real-Eurus would do the same. This is what Eurus had observed on him on that day. He longed for John, and he couldn't have him. He had to get over him if their friendship was going to survive. Sherlock couldn't continue pining. This wasn't good for him, and clearly Eurus believed that in order for him to start to heal he needed to get laid. Well... if _she_ was saying it, it was probably true. She was the smart one, after all.  


 

And so Sherlock is where he is now, going on the occasional case, babysitting Watson (either the adult or the toddler) and when they’re not around, exploring his feelings through song and learning about himself physically through sexual partners. All in all it isn’t a bad experience so far, at least apart from Eurus deducing his recent loss of 'virginity' in front of their entire family. It had been somewhat awkward for Sherlock. Mycroft had been scandalized while Mummy and daddy had been delighted for him. Eurus had laughed at Mycroft and called him a prude. Sherlock smiles. He’s promised to go see her tomorrow.

She’s asked him to write her a song about it, though and Sherlock is a little put off by that. How do you write a song about pleasure and desire for your sister? Sherlock is sure she doesn’t mean her prying to be quite so... invasive, and considering she’s had no proper societal lessons, he’s honestly not at all surprised or appalled by her boldness. Much as she and Mycroft both dislike each other they certainly do have one thing in common - they both have a proclivity for being meddlesome in Sherlock's affairs. Sherlock supposes that at least with Eurus it’s kind of a nice meddling (now that she isn’t actively trying to torture or maim him), and having someone to talk to about these things (in a way), even if she is a little bit... extraordinary is certainly a breath of fresh air. He can never discuss emotions with Mycroft like this without him getting extremely uncomfortable and that, at least, makes Sherlock somewhat thankful for Eurus.

 

Sherlock is finally broken out of his reverie when Rosie awakens with a soft cry. She calls out for John at first, then seems to recognize she’s in Sherlock’s home.

 

He climbs the steps up to John’s old bedroom, which Sherlock has now re-decorated for the little girl with bright warm yellow walls, painted fluffy buzzing bees, a painting of the sky on the ceiling and a mobile of the solar system hanging over her white crib.

 

“Shewahhh!” She says, when she sees him enter.

 

“Hello, darling.” He answers her as he picks her up and sits on the floor to play with her. Sherlock never uses pet names for her when John is around. He doesn’t know what’s socially acceptable behavior with a friend’s baby, but he certainly knows that he loves this child as much as he would love one if it were his own. At first, he’d been worried that she’d be a constant reminder of John’s resolute heterosexuality, but as the time had passed by she’d grown on him. She wasn’t a reminder of something Sherlock could never have so much as she was an example of something he could, if he wanted to. And she was so small and so innocent and so defenseless... Sherlock had to love her. It was inevitable that he would. She was a part of John with no previous impression of him and he was free to shower her with a fatherly affection he never thought he’d feel. This was a Watson he could kiss, love and hold freely without anyone questioning his reasons. She was a baby, after all, and who didn't love babies. Rosie was perfect, in every sense of the word.

 

Rosie babbles in his arms and points to various toys for him to pick up and pass to her, inspecting each curiously and babbling to him about them in serious tones. “Mmhmm. Interesting,” Sherlock encourages her with a smile, “and what can you tell me about this one,” he asks, picking up another toy for her to inspect. She takes it, studies it carefully, as she did with the others, and then lets out another string of incoherent baby babble. "Very good observations, Watson." Sherlock replies, continuing the game by giving her more toys to babble about, "And this?"

 

“Oh, God, are you teaching her to deduce her toys?” John’s voice says in amusement through the door.

 

“John!” Sherlock startles, “We didn’t hear you come in!”

 

John huffs out an exaggerated breath, “Figures,” he says, in a light tone.

 

“DADAH!!” Rosie shouts and points to her toys, babbling again.

 

“Oh! Fantastic, Rosie! Brilliant deductions!” John laughs.

 

Rosie beams, extremely pleased with herself.

 

“She’ll be solving crimes by primary school.” Sherlock states, proudly.

 

John sniggers, “How long d’you reckon, before she asks me for her own pocket magnifying glass?”

 

Sherlock’s eyes glitter with fondness at the thought, “Possibly as soon as she learns to say it.”

 

John smiles warmly. “I can hardly wait.” he says, he then extends his arms for Sherlock to pass Rosie over. “Anyway, we should get going. I’ve got work again tomorrow.”

 

Sherlock nods, a flash of sadness at John's announcement quickly concealed as he turns towards Rosie, saying, “Yes, of course,” and moves to pick her up. Before he reaches her, however, Rosie does something remarkable. She stands up! Sherlock immediately freezes, looking at John with an expression of shock which quickly morphs into joy. John is frozen too, and both men watch her cautiously while she stares down at her little feet, a little frown of concentration on her features. Rosie takes a deep breath and then, glancing at John’s arm in calculation she unsteadily waddles her way over, reaching out until she can finally take hold of his hand to steady herself. “DADAH!” She says, clearly showing off her new skill.

 

Sherlock and John suddenly ‘unfreeze’ and laugh happily with her, praising her for her good job. Rosie grins smugly and babbles proudly.

 

“Yes, darling, you were amazing- absolutely fantastic!” John says then, looking to Sherlock, he suddenly has an over-powering urge to stay with him longer, “We should celebrate. Dinner?” John asks.

 

Sherlock looks thrilled at the idea, “Angelo’s?” He asks.

 

“Sounds perfect.” John beams.

 

And so the three of them get changed (Rosie with some help from John and from the copious drawers of adorable little outfits Sherlock has purchased for her), and make their way to the restaurant where they spend a happy calm evening eating until they’re stuffed. When John and Rosie finally go home, it’s dark out and Sherlock is filled with so much warmth after seeing them that as soon as he arrives in 221B he crawls straight to bed and falls right asleep with a smile on his features. Today was a good day and now he knows exactly what song to write for Eurus next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They’re so gay. Just kiss already ffs. 
> 
> I wanted to show Eurus in a different light for this story. I know she’s the ‘bad guy’ but I want to show how Sherlock has literally ‘defeated’ the evil with Love. Though she’s still a nut-case. Hopefully I’ve done what I wanted with her. I didn’t expect her to show up so much but I found that when I started writing her I almost couldn’t stop. I’m pretty sure that now that she’s (almost) stopped wanting to squeeze her brother like a child wanting to squeeze a cute bunny till its head pops off that she’s on board with Sherlock having a relationship. John better watch out though. I feel like if he hurts Sherlock again Eurus won’t be as understanding as Mycroft has been.  
> Anyway hope you enjoyed this. Don’t get used to the frequent updates. I’m known for my long hiatuses when life decides to kick me in the gut. I’ll do my best but I make no promises. Ttyl!  
> B


	4. Out of sight, out of mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is annoyed and tries to keep John off his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta’d. Not britpicked.  
> Enjoy the frequent updates while they last.  
> Ps. Warning for smut? I mean I started this story with smut so I hope that it doesn’t present an issue Lol

Sherlock doesn’t see Eurus before his song is finished. A case comes up the next day and he sends Mycroft along with a gift for her. He sends her some of her favourite biscuits and a letter saying he’s sorry he can’t come. As an extra treat he’s written her a few notes from his song so far. Mycroft texts to say she had been pleased. 

 

He tells John about the case excitedly over text. John replies immediately “Well, then, what are we waiting for?” Sherlock hadn’t asked John to come, thinking he might be reluctant to leave Rosie, but at the receipt of this text he has no other choice but than to invite him along. The case takes them out of town and it is many days before they solve it. They leave Rosie with Mrs. Hudson while they work on it. When it finally ends Sherlock is exhausted and a little frustrated. He didn’t think he’d mind bringing John. He’d hoped it would feel a little like the good old days, when it was just the two of them against the rest of the world. Unfortunately that had been exactly what it had felt like and it had unpredictably been more of a problem than a pleasure. Spending so much time with John when he can’t run off to let off some steam had made him a little irritable. The urge to touch him had become so strong and he now feels wound up with energy despite the exhausting case. It’s entirely annoying that his body chooses to keep betraying him like this. When they finally return to 221B it is late afternoon on a Friday. Sherlock gladly bids John and Rosie goodbye, waving them off with a promise to rest and to see them again soon. Not five minutes after they’ve left Sherlock has used the phone app he’d been using to find the men he’s been to spending time with in order to see if he can find some company for tonight.

 

Sherlock lies back on his couch, still in a suit, his coat hanging by the door. He scrolls through some photos in the app on his phone and untucks his shirt, lightly tapping his fingers against his skin subconsciously. Finally he settles for chatting up a handsome looking brunet with strong muscular arms and pale blue eyes. He sends the man a short message and a sensual photo of himself with his shirt collar opened, his hair looking artfully dishevelled, his eyes looking into the camera through his lashes and his teeth biting down on his finger suggestively. He receives a reply almost instantly. By the time it gets dark outside Sherlock is tidying up the living room a bit in expectation of his next visitor.

 

“Well hello, gorgeous.” The man greets Sherlock when he arrives. He’s slightly shorter than Sherlock and Sherlock can see that the man’s photos certainly didn’t do that body any justice. He is even better-looking in person. Mid-forties by the look of him, but still quite the specimen. Or maybe Sherlock is just really desperate for it. Without further thought Sherlock grabs him by the collar, pulls him inside andshoves him against the door. He practically chokes the man with his tongue as he kisses him. His visitor melts in his arms, groaning at Sherlock’s enthusiasm.

 

“You- you don’t waste anytime, do you?” He gasps as Sherlock moves to suck on the man’s neck.

 

“Upstairs, now.” Sherlock growls, finally detaching himself.

 

“Yes, sir!” His partner obeys, taking the steps two at a time as Sherlock follows him up.

 

Sherlock locks the door of 221B behind him (lest Mrs. Hudson decides to come up while Sherlock is busy) and again pushes his visitor against the wall for a kiss one more time. The man whines desperately into Sherlock’s mouth, nipping at his lips and sucking on his tongue hungrily. They grasp at each other’s clothes wildly, tearing and pulling until they can get a feel of the other’s skin. Sherlock splays his hands on the other man’s abdomen, feeling the heat of him beneath his shirt and slowly running his hands upward towards his pectorals. His partner, meanwhile, grabs hold of Sherlock’s waist, pressing into him and leaning his head back in pleasure. Sherlock licks at the exposed neck and pulls back, grabbing the man’s shirt and pulling it up over his head. The blue eyes of his partner are dilated and his breaths come out in short gasps. Sherlock can see his nipples tightening as his gorgeous chest is exposed to the fresh air. He smirks and sinks to his knees quickly, making quick work of unfastening the other man’s trousers. He hears the guy choke out another breath and Sherlock gives him a smug look as he takes out the man’s already swollen cock and immediately wraps his lips around it, allowing it to sink deep into his mouth. The other man cries out, “Oh my fucking god!” And Sherlock groans around him, allowing the other to fuck his throat freely. When the other starts to look like he’s about to loose all control (more than he already has) Sherlock pulls away.

The other man gasps in surprise, “Oh fuck.” He breathes, “probably a good call. Was getting too close.”

 

Sherlock ignores him, standing and stripping out of his clothes. He pulls the other man to him as the guy drops his trousers, stepping out of them one leg at a time while he follows Sherlock towards the couch. Sherlock lies down, pulling the man over him with his eyes closed as they kiss. They thrust against each other’s bodies languidly. Sherlock’s partner licks at his throat and the detective’s back bows in pleasure. He holds the man’s head against him and whispers into his ear in that low baritone, “I need you to fuck me.”

 

His partner growls, “God yeah.” He slips down Sherlock’s body and then sits back, “let me just get the-“

 

“Desk, first drawer to your right.” Sherlock tells him, an arm over his face.

 

The swiftness with which the other had retrieves the items is almost comical but in Sherlock’s current state, he is glad of it. Soon the man is making Sherlock keen and grasp at the fabric of the throw blanket sitting on the back of the couch. The man is slow and methodical as he prepares Sherlock teasing him lightly and keeping him just on the edge of pleasure. Oh, he had chosen well tonight.

His thought is confirmed and his expectations are even surpassed when the man finally starts fucking him. Sherlock loses himself in the heat of it, pushing all memories and thoughts of his recent case with John as far away as he can until he is just Sherlock, living in this moment, feeling everything and his mind is blank, free of all his heartbroken agony. The body against him is warm and strong. It isn’t John, and there was no romance behind it - just pure carnal pleasure, but it is perfect. It is what he wants - what he needs right now. His eyes sting a little but he doesn’t pay them any mind. Instead, he keeps them shut and pulls the warm body of his anonymous lover against him. He holds tightly as the other man fucks him into sweet oblivion. Sherlock comes with a loud shout and his partner quickly follows, collapsing over him. Sherlock puffs and the rearrange each other more comfortably. The other man sighs contentedly and pulls the throw blanket over them, boneless and spent just like Sherlock.

 

“Hope you don’t mind,” he breathes against Sherlock. “That was- you were... fuck! Can’t talk and I definitely can’t move right now.”

 

Sherlock doesn’t say anything. In reply he wraps an arm around the man and strokes his hair softly. Soon they are both fast asleep, snoring softly into the couch. Sherlock’s sure his back will hurt if the man decides to stay till morning - they’ll both be in pain for sure, seeing as the couch is not a particularly great place for either of them to fall asleep, let alone both, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell him to go away quite yet, and if he’s being honest, he kind of wants him to stay, just for tonight, just so he can feel this and enjoy the sweet embrace of a lover, even if he might never feel it again with another (or with the one he really wants).

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you’re all here for the smut ;) I’m kidding, I’m kidding. 
> 
> So uh, it’s smut but it’s kind of sad at the end there, eh? I’m sorry I can’t resist the angst. I know you’re here, angst, you’ve got some feels of ours and It calls to us~  
> i mean Sherlock is definitely doing a good job with his #self-care and totally #slaying but baby who you think you’re kidding, John’s the earth and heaven to ya, isn’t he? 
> 
> Anyway have fun crying inside after I’ve put that thought in your head. I’m going to go write about John being clueless and his cluelessness making everyone sad/annoyed/angry. (Including me).
> 
> Bye! :)


	5. Distance in heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short Chapter about John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen I was tempted not to post this short chapter and force you guys to wait until I’m done with the next one and possibly let you believe for a while that I was just going to leave Sherlock and John apart for months while I went on with my life but I found that I couldn’t do that to you. This chapter is really short but I don’t want it paired with the next chapter and you’ll see why when it’s finished. For now, enjoy John’s stupidity.

John lies awake all night after bringing Rosie home. His inability to sleep tonight confounds him. He was sure that after the exhausting case he’d had with Sherlock that he’d be more tired by now, but he just can’t shake this odd feeling that’s been with him ever since he and Sherlock had been on this recent case. 

 

John had been excited, as usual, (and he’d thought Sherlock had been too) to go off on a long case together. He’d hoped that it would feel like the good old days - them dashing about with the blood pumping through their veins with the rush of adventure - and it had, for a moment felt like that. Sherlock had certainly seemed excited when he’d talked to John about the case in the beginning as well, but as the case had gone on, Sherlock had grown more and more... well, irritable was the only word for it. Anything John did had seemed to set him off. John had grown a bit annoyed by the end of the trip and when the case was finally over they had both been a bit distant from each other. Sherlock had twitched and flinched away from him when John had tried to talk to him on the way back, attempting to place a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

 

“I’m fine, John, just tired.” He’d answered in a huff and hadn’t said a word to him the whole way back.

 

When they’d arrived at 221B Sherlock was visibly relieved. John had frowned to himself a little at that but hadn’t mentioned it, instead making Sherlock promise that he’d get some rest.

 

Sherlock had smiled tiredly, “Of course, John,” he’d said in goodbye, and to Rosie, “I’ll see you both soon. I promise.”

 

 

John doesn’t know what he may have done to annoy Sherlock this time, but he doesn’t feel right leaving things like this. It bothers him, for some reason - the thought that Sherlock might be annoyed with him. Even worse is the thought that he might be relieved not to have to spend time with John. The thought worries him because... well what if Sherlock has decided that he’s still mad at John for... - and John realizes with horror that... well, maybe that’s just it, isn’t it? Maybe Sherlock hasn’t entirely forgiven John for all the pain he’s put him through. Sherlock went to hell and back to restore their friendship after Mary but... maybe John hasn’t done enough to repair it himself. He’s never been particularly good at communication. Sherlock has to know that doesn’t he? That he’s sorry? After all, John had told Sherlock, that day when they were trapped with a bomb in the secret underground tunnel. He’d told Sherlock “I find it difficult, this sort of stuff.” Sherlock had to know how awful he felt for the way he’d hurt him... but then... maybe he didn’t, and maybe that’s why he seemed so angry. He sighs, putting and arm behind his head as he stares sleeplessly up at the ceiling. He should really just talk to Sherlock. Maybe he’ll go tomorrow before work... maybe apologize properly, or something? He can go see him with the excuse of using Mrs. Hudson to watch over Rosie again tomorrow. After all, he still hasn’t told the nanny that he’s back yet, and Mrs. Hudson never seems to mind watching Rosie - she even often complains that John has bothered getting her nanny at all. He makes up his mind then. He’ll go see Sherlock tomorrow morning, an hour before he has to start work. Hopefully he’ll be up by then so they can talk. If anything, John will find out why Sherlock seemed so distant, and if it wasn’t John that had annoyed him, maybe there’s something John can do to help.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh snap guys shit is getting good. 
> 
> Yeah. I know. Leaving you here, with this short chapter like this is a dick move on my part. I’m the worst. Muahaha. 
> 
> Sorry it just makes for a good cliff hanger, doesn’t it? *grins* *runs away*   
> Don’t worry the next chapter is all summarized. I just need to write it. :) it’ll be worth the wait I promise.   
> For now, I ask you to enjoy the updates, again, while you can. Hopefully I can finish this before school starts.


	6. Human error?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I mean you probably know what’s coming, right? 
> 
> John visits Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta’d. Not Brit-picked. 
> 
> My hand slipped and my evil cliff-hanger is not very effective because I finished this chapter earlier than I thought I would.   
> You’re welcome. But also sorry in advance. Don’t hate me.

 

John has texted Mrs. Hudson early on this morning, asking her for permission to bring Rosie over. She’s already answered with a very enthusiastic “Yes,” so John is basically at 221 Baker Street at a quarter past eight in the morning. He doesn’t have to be at work until ten so this gives him plenty of time to speak with Sherlock. John’s hands feel incredibly steady and he feels a rush of adrenaline much like how he feels when he’s about to rush headlong into danger. Mrs. Hudson gets the door, a happy smile on her face as she takes the still sleeping Rosie into 221A with her. “Oh, she’s such a love.” She coos. “I’ll put her straight to sleep right next to me by the couch.”

John gives her a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks again, for taking her, Mrs. Hudson. It really is a great help,” he says.

“It’s no trouble at all dear, no trouble at all.” She assures him while he makes his way out of her apartment “I’ll see you later, dear.”

“I’ll see you later, Mrs. Hudson.” John says, as she closed the door behind him.

 

John looks up at the stairs. “Well. Here goes,” he says, and climbs upstairs to knock on the door of 221B.

 

 

 

Sherlock is fast asleep. Distantly he’s aware that he’s a little uncomfortable and maybe a little too warm, but he doesn’t feel like moving or stirring just yet, knowing that if he follows the discomfort he’ll be fully awake. Sherlock doesn’t want to wake up quite yet. He might be a little too warm and his neck might feel like it’s developing a little crick that will be there for the rest of the day but he also still feels quite sated. All his John-related stresses are simply not there to disturb him right now. This moment is pure bliss or at least it is until his brain registers some kind of annoying tapping sound. Eventually the tapping sound stops though and Sherlock is relieved to feel his brain falling back asleep.

He should have known that wouldn’t last either though, because the next sound he hears wakes him up completely and at once he is entirely aware that he is still on the couch, naked, sticky with sweat, spit and other bodily fluids, and also completely covered in the naked body of another man who is, to his mortification, in a similar state to Sherlock’s. You see, the sound that has fully awakened Sherlock is none other than the voice of John Hamish Watson saying loudly, “Good morning, Sherlock - I hope you don’t mind my letting myself in - I wanted to talk to y-“

 

“John!” Sherlock breathes, sitting up in a rush, embarrassingly pushing the bleary and debauched blue-eyed brunet that was on top of him to the ground in surprise, forcing Sherlock to scramble for the throw blanket to cover himself, “John, what are you doing here?!” He exclaims, while his guest on the ground mutters “Ouch,” And, rubbing his neck, continues: “Well that’s one way to wake up.”

 

John is speechless. He stares, wide-eyed and his lips half-parted at the scene before him. He feels a heat rise up to his face and feels himself shake his head as he turns self-consciously away. “Sorry. Sorry!” He hears himself mutter rather raggedly as he rushes back out the door and towards the stairs, “I’ll leave you to it!” He panics. Thoughts of: Oh dear god, and: what the hell? And: Why couldn’t I have just called Sherlock? Rush through his head as he runs, barely registering that Sherlock is calling after him, and simply repeating: “Sorry! Sorry about that, should have kept knocking!” He feels nauseated and upset. A flurry of emotions rush after him as he follows his brain’s tirade of ‘gotta get out of here, gotta get out of here.’

 

Unfortunately for John’s brain, Sherlock’s voice follows him down as well. “JOHN, STOP! JOHN, WAIT!” Sherlock shouts, having clambered after him and wrapped himself up in his discarded dressing gown in his pursuit of his friend out into the hall.

 

John finally stops on the stairs and half turns to Sherlock. He’s about to apologize again, but he finds looking at Sherlock’s distraught face, that no words will leave his mouth.

 

Sherlock seems to be in the same situation as he stares at John for a good few seconds before his eyes break away and he says, “ehm... can we... er. I’d like to um... explain? Possibly?”

 

John blinks, “You... you don’t need to,” he says, carefully, “it’s... it’s like I said, when I met you. It’s all fine, you know? It’s all fine, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock tilts his head, “um... that’s not what I meant - I, um. I know it is,” Sherlock looks down at his feet and, was that a blush?

 

John hesitates, feeling awkward but turns around to face him and asks, “Oh. Well, good. Then, um... what did... what did you mean?”

 

It’s Sherlock’s turn to hesitate, “He’s... it isn’t - He’s not -“

 

But before Sherlock finishes a look of realization dawns on John’s face as a single name runs through his mind: Janine! “You utter bastard.” He suddenly says, enraged, “You’re doing this again? What the hell kind of a case would justify this? Going this far? Are you bloody serious, Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock blinks in confusion at the sudden anger and disdain dripping from John’s voice. “What?!” He asks, his tone equally as appalled as it is confounded. “What in the hell are you on about?”

 

“Janine!” John shouts, “Jesus, Sherlock, I thought you’d have learned by now! You can’t just-“

 

Sherlock suddenly scoffs as he realizes where John’s funny little brain has taken him this time. “Oh, John do shut up,” he says, exasperated.

 

John is about to open his mouth to reply in anger when Sherlock interrupts him once more. “This isn’t for a case, idiot.” And before John can interrupt him with an irritated “then what is it then?”, he continues, “What I’m trying to explain is that this is the first time I’ve ever been with this man.”

 

John’s face falls and the anger is immediately seeped out of him and plummets like a stone through what now feels like a deep black hole in the pit of his stomach, which, incidentally, now feels like it’s been punched. “Oh.” He says, “Oh.” John feels like a moron now. He’d come to apologize to Sherlock for being a bad friend, and here he was again, assuming the worst of him. ‘I’m such an arsehole,’ he thinks, ‘Fuck, and I should be happy for him. This is what I told him to chase after, didn’t I?’ He notices that the silence between them has grown a little uncomfortable. He should say something, “Oh, right well. Um, that’s, er. That’s good then,” he stammers stupidly, “Ehm, good for you.”

 

Sherlock continues to blush and he looks at anything but John’s face.

 

John lets out a light breath, “Well, em, congratulations? I guess? Sorry again, for er -“ he gestures towards the door “I really should have kept knocking, or called to let you know I was coming. Over that is. That I was coming over.”

 

Sherlock smiles at John’s choice of words, knowing well why he’d felt the need to extend that last bit. God, could this be any more embarrassing? “It’s fine, John,” he answers then adds, “So, are we, um...?”

 

“Good?” John asks.

 

“Yes?” Sherlock replies awkwardly.

 

John gives Sherlock a re-assuring grin, “Yeah, Sherlock. We’re good.”

 

Sherlock looks visibly relieved, “Good. That’s good.”

 

John hesitates for what feels like the millionth time this morning, “Well, I’ve better be off then. Gotta get to work,” he explains, pointing over his shoulder at the door. “I’ll... talk to you later?”

 

Sherlock smiles shyly, “Um. Yes, probably,” he answers, “Sister today, you know?” 

 

“Ah, yes.” John says, “Good luck?”

 

“Thank you, John.”

 

John smiles again and finally turns away. He climbs down the steps quickly and rushes out of 221 Baker Street as fast as he can. That moment had already gone on for way too long and that feeling at the pit of his stomach was still bothering him. ‘Sherlock has a boyfriend.’ His mind supplied to him. ‘Sherlock has a boyfriend and last night was his first time sleeping with him,’ and why the hell did that thought suddenly make John so fucking angry?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I want you to know that my notes for this chapter were as follows:   
> “John catches him sleeping with someone and his brain melts.”  
> XD. Listen. It’s hilarious. Also I know that this is what some of you wanted ;) so I decided, you know what, maybe not exactly IN THE ACT buuuuut... close enough. I almost DID have John catch them going for a round 2 in the morning but I also didn’t want Sherlock and Unnamed Guy to get too attached to each other. I prefer they just be friends after this and for John to be jealous for no reason just like he is with Irene, cuz he’s a fucking idiot. John. Jawn. Babe. You’re stupid. I love you. I’m sorry. But you’re so dumb. To be fair Sherlock is also dumb. You’re both dumb. Y’all need to just fuck each other. You idiots.   
>  Here are some more notes from when I was summarizing this chapter,   
> “John is hella pissed “because he thinks Sherlock is pulling another Janine” (he’s really just pissed cuz he’s jealous) and he’s like: Bruh I thought you learned!!
> 
> Sherlock is like: this isn’t what you think. I’m sleeping with him because I like him. (Or something equally as suggestive of a relationship)
> 
> And John is like: ... oh. 
> 
> And then he assumes Sherlock is in a relationship and he’s like: oh. Haha oops sorry. Good for you.   
> But he’s actually like really fucking sad about it and he’s like: why am I sad? (Spoiler alert [for John]: it’s cuz ya love him, ya dumb fuck)” 
> 
> Anyway my loyal sweet audience who likes to read my trash, thank you for your continued support, you’ve encouraged me to keep writing this (and I’ll probably finish it before In Pursuit - oops.) I didn’t think I’d like this fic this much since I abandoned it years ago and only recently decided to post the first chapter and finish it, but once I started writing i found I couldn’t stop. I guess, like you, I just want to fix the way season 4 ended, even if it’s just by doing my own unlikely extension to it.   
> Thanks again!   
> B


	7. I burn, I pine, I perish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More mutual pining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh this is Getting rather fun, isn’t it?  
> As usual, no beta, no Brit-pick, and not edited because I’m lazy but also editing on mobile sucks and I’m too lazy to type it up on the laptop / desktop. Anyway enjoy~~

Sherlock enters his flat with his face still flushed red in slight embarrassment. He can hear the shower running and figures his partner from last night must be in there.

 

‘What you didn’t get his name?’ A voice in his mind that sounds suspiciously like John’s asks, ‘Bit not good, Sherlock.’

 

“Shut up, John.” Sherlock replies to the voice. Oh, John Watson. What had he done to him? Sherlock had spent last night and most of this morning in the comforting arms of another man and yet he’d laid there thinking, even in his dreams that nice as it was, it would never be what he really wanted. He walks over to his desk, dejected, and scribbles a note that he stabs onto the bathroom door angrily before locking himself in his bedroom to sleep. Ugh. Sentiment.

 

A few minutes later Sherlock’s handsome brunet exits the bathroom and with a fond expression removes the note after reading it. “Your clothes are in the front hall and living room. Don’t worry about the locking up when you go. -SH” it reads. Of course. The brunet recalls how the older man had cried out another man’s name last night as his pleasure had peaked and he kisses the note softly. He had expelled it with such longing. He really couldn’t find it in himself to be angered. He’d stayed, knowing the other man had needed this, but he could never have predicted that he’d catch a glimpse of the person he had been standing in for. He pads his way over to the living room and hall to collect and put on his clothes. He looks around the desk for a second until he finds what he’s looking for. Picking up a pen and paper he writes a note himself and after he’s fully dressed stabs it to the door of the room he (correctly) assumes to be his host’s. With that done the man follows his host’s instructions and leaves, not bothering with the locks on the doors.

 

“Good luck with John.” The note reads.

 

———————

 

John finds himself entering the clinic early. He knows he’s not scheduled to come in just yet, but fuck if he knows what else to do. The other doctors are at least relieved to see him and no one questions him as he enters his office to begin his work day.

 

He starts off fine, but as the day progresses he grows more and more irritated with himself. His mind is driving him mad - the image of Sherlock lying naked and peacefully asleep with another man coiled around him is simply burned into his memory. It plays on and on in his mind like a video feed on constant loop, torturing him into a state of scorching rage bubbling just beneath the surface of his skin. And, ugh! John just doesn’t understand why he can’t just fucking stop thinking about it.

 

... Okay, maybe he does. A bit. But he thought he was over this, this... this pining.

 

God, John feels like an idiot. He doesn’t understand Sherlock at all. First he’d said women weren’t his area, then he’d fallen for Irene. First he’d said that he didn’t have a boyfriend but when John had attempted to ask him out he’d shut him down before he could begin. First he’d shut John down and then he’d suggested a date when John already had plans. First he’d interrupted John’s date and ruined his chances with Sarah then he’d met The Woman. First he’d said he didn’t love the woman, (“love is a chemical defect found on the losing side”) then he’d admitted that he texted back sometimes. First he’d abandoned John for two years, making him mourn his loss, and then he’d returned to him and gone through hell to remain his friend. First he’d proposed to Janine, then he’d called it human error. First he’d admitted to texting The Woman (and yes, that one did bear repeating because...), then he said it didn’t mean anything, and how could it not mean anything when he KEPT HER PHONE?

 

John breathes a sits with his head back, frowning at the ceiling...

 

... First he’d said he didn’t need romantic attachment and then he’d held John as he cried for the loss of the woman he loved.

 

First he’d said he was married to his work... and now here he is, _asleep and debauched in the arms of some nameless, muscular, pretty-boy that is at least ten years younger than John!_

 

John feels a pencil snap in his grip as he continues to stall on buzzing the intercom for his next patient.

 

He should have known he’d never stood a chance with Sherlock. God, why had he ever dared to hope otherwise? The man was a whirlwind and John could barely keep up. This shouldn’t be news to John. He should be pleased. He should be supportive of his friend for doing just what John had told him to do. He’d told him to do something while he still had a chance... because before he knew it, it could be gone. Sherlock had taken John’s advice. John should be thrilled, but he... he just can’t be. He’s miserable. Truth be told he’s always been miserable at the thought that he might one day find out that Sherlock might actually feel things that way, and that he might just not feel them like that for him.

 

Fuck, it really was like a punch to the gut.

 

‘Snap out of it, Watson,’ he thinks to himself, ‘Just snap out of it. You’ve always known. You’ve always known.’

 

He finally buzzes the button on the intercom, requesting his next patient.

 

———————

 

 

“That doesn’t sound right.” Eurus proclaims after Sherlock finishes playing for her. “Are you sure you’ve had sex?”

 

Sherlock feels his ears and cheeks burn at her words but tries to act nonplussed, “Quite sure, little sister.”

 

“Interesting.” She says.

 

“What is?” Sherlock asks her, exasperated.

 

“You’ve been sampling from a pool relatively above the average amount of times others in your circumstances would have, yet you are not enjoying yourself. Perhaps it is a matter of quality as opposed to quantity with you. I’m not quite sure. I think I need more data. Have you tried any women or just men?”

 

Sherlock stares at her, stunned. “Women aren’t really my area.” He replies automatically.

 

Eurus squints. “That’s impractical but I suppose you’ve always been quite resolute about your tastes. You were a very picky eater as well. Do you remember when Mycroft, mummy and I made gingerbread biscuits for Christmas and you ate all the ones mummy and Mycroft had made but you cried when I gave you mine?”

 

Sherlock frowns. Leave it to Eurus to make an inappropriate analogy to equate to his homosexuality. And he did remember that Christmas now that she mentioned it. “You’d put glass shards in the icing and were trying to force me to eat it.”

 

Eurus tilts her head, “You liked glass. It made you laugh.”

 

Sherlock doesn’t bother to remind her that glass isn’t safely edible, nor that the glass that she thinks made him laugh was actually shards of glass that she’d cut him with and that it had made him scream in agony. He suspects she knows and is just trying to get a rise out of him. In lieu of an answer he just gives her a look.

 

She shrugs. “Well, perhaps you simply need to be more adventurous,” she observes.

 

The way she says it startles a laugh out of him. It is simultaneously scandalous, blunt, and innocent. It also instantly reminds him of the line from John’s Blog that had once angered him - ‘Sherlock sees through everyone and everything in seconds. What’s incredible though is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things.’ He thinks he understands what he meant now. Eurus is a genius, but when it comes to emotions, though she feels them quite strongly, she is as ignorant as himself and Mycroft, possibly more so.

 

When he finally begins to calm down he notices she is frowning, “Why are you crying?”

 

At that Sherlock explodes into another peel of laughter. “I’m not!” He swears, “I’m not crying, Eurus. I’m laughing. You made me laugh.”

 

Eurus eyes him carefully. “I know you’re laughing, idiot. I meant why are you upset?”

 

Sherlock stares at her. “Upset? I’m not upset.”

 

“You are!” She accuses angrily, “tell me the truth!”

 

“Eurus, I’m not-“ Sherlock tries,

 

“-Tell me or I’m telling mummy that you aren’t being any fun, Sherlock. I’ll tell Mycroft you were crying again and he will be very cross. Do you want to upset them Sherlock?!” Eurus taps her foot impatiently.

 

Seeing her lose her patience like this makes Sherlock finally relent. An upset Eurus is never a good thing. “It’s not the quantity that matters, and the quality is... fine. I am beginning to hypothesize, however, that there would be a significant increase in quality of an encounter dependent on my feelings about the subject.”

 

Eurus looks at him with pity then and says, “Oh, Sherlock. Always so sentimental.” She picks up her violin, “let me play you a song.” She holds her breath, looks Sherlock dead in the eyes and plays the first of his songs he’d ever played for her - the one he’d written those years ago during Christmas, when John had thought that Sherlock wrote it because he was in love with Irene. The song he’d written when John had said, ‘I’d say he was heartbroken, but then, it’s Sherlock, he does all that anyway,’ correctly deducing Sherlock’s state of mind, but incorrectly deducing for whom his heart was yearning for.

 

Oh his heart. His poor heart. Sherlock weeps for the state of it and how Eurus plays its tune so well, despite not understanding its plight. It must be suffering greatly, if even _she_ can hear it screaming.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh shit guys. John KNOWS he has a big bisexual crush on Sherlock?! Of course he fucking knows. Sherlock is his hero, he’s perfect and beautiful and he loves John’s daughter. But what’s he going to do with that information?  
> *insert shrugging emoji here* He doesn’t know. You know who else doesn’t know? Me. Yeah. I have no clue. ;) (no really the story is running away from me and doing whatever it wants to do. Is this what happens to mofftis? Is this why they make us cry like this?)  
> But seriously I had no idea they were going to get so sad. I was expecting Sherlock to have a string of lovers and being all devil-may-care about it while John was angry and like: no Sherlock you’re mine rarr! Like right from the get-go (which he is Kinda) but fuck me I guess I just like to see them suffer. Wow I’m a dick.  
> Well... p guess I’ll cry now. Sorry boys. I promise I’m trying to put Humpty Dumpty back together. The story just kind of ran away from me and I don’t know where it’s going. I just know at some point you’ll probably be happy.  
> Anyway.  
> Ttyl  
> B  
> Ps. I have no idea where Sherlock is finding these surpringly nice guys for one-night-stands. Lol.


	8. Doubt thou the stars are fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Rosie visit a sulking Sherlock and John finally says he’s sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff for ya.  
> no beta, no brit-pick, no editing.   
> Yeah so I didn’t think the last one would be that sad. I’m trying to speed this along to get them together but it’s hard to do with all the damage Moftiss have done to them. Fixing them is not easy. Still, here goes nothing...

John makes his way to 221 Baker Street in the late afternoon to pick up Rosie from Mrs. Hudson’s. He worries his lip in thought as he sits on the tube on his way there. He wonders if Sherlock would be alright with him coming up to see him once he’s gotten Rosie. He’s worried about him. Seeing Eurus always makes him sulk and besides that, John still hasn’t spoken to Sherlock about his crankiness during the case. Although -now that he thinks about it- perhaps Sherlock had been cranky because he’d wanted to spend time with his boyfriend, and John had just invited himself along on the case. Perhaps Sherlock had meant to invite the other man instead.

‘Wow, you really stepped in it this time, Watson.’ John thinks to himself, because that had to be it didn’t it? Why else would Sherlock have been so annoyed with him? Why else would he flinch away? ‘Definitely should apologize.’ John thinks. He knows they don’t normally do apologies or caring speeches with each other, but, well... John should really do better as a friend. Sherlock had withstood a beating from him while he was in a delicate state and had almost gotten himself murdered by a maniacal serial killer just to be able to speak to John. A simple apology shouldn’t be too hard, right?

John takes a breath as his stop comes up. He makes up his mind while he exits the vehicle to go up and try to talk to Sherlock. He just hopes that Sherlock no longer has company. Of course if he does have company, (and he doesn’t catch them in a compromising position again) John can at least introduce himself and perhaps even scope this guy out. Not in a jealous way or anything - just... to make sure he won’t be hurting Sherlock. After all, Sherlock did have an odd taste in romantic partners (ie. Irene Adler), and it was only reasonable to want to protect his best friend, right?

John lets himself in to 221 Baker Street with an air of determination. He has a short chat with Mrs. Hudson about her day with Rosie and after a few minutes decides to head upstairs. ‘Enough stalling, Watson,’ He thinks.   
John climbs up the stairs to 221B, a sleeping Rosie in one arm and her day bag strapped over the other shoulder. Remembering this morning John knocks on the door and listens carefully for any noise inside.

“Sherlock?” He calls, a little apprehensive. He goes to knock again but finds the door falls open if it’s own accord. It looks like Sherlock left the door unlocked. He enters the apartment quietly and again, stops to listen for any signs of life within the apartment.

At first he hears nothing, but when he places his daughter into the spacious portable crib Sherlock had long ago placed by the couch, he hears a light snoring coming from Sherlock’s bedroom. John panics for a moment, hoping Sherlock is alone in there. In his sudden panic he hears a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Sherlock scoff at him, “As ever Watson, you see but you do not observe. Look at the front entrance! There is only one pair of shoes by the coat hangers which incidentally are only holding on to one coat, and it is a familiar one. If I had company over of the romantic sort wouldn’t it be logical to assume they wouldn’t take their shoes and coat into the bedroom with me?”

John rolls his eyes at the grouchy voice in his head, “Alright, Sherlock, good point,” he whispers, “though fuck if I know any of your habits with romantic partners,” he adds. ‘God, Watson, talking to yourself now?’ His own voice in his head asks. He shakes his thoughts away and decides to just go check the bedroom quietly. If Sherlock is with his boyfriend, John will do the decent thing and leave, and if he’s alone... well, maybe John will make him some tea and dinner. He’s sure Sherlock most likely hasn’t eaten.

On his way to the bedroom John notices a stab-mark on the bathroom door, and another on Sherlock’s bedroom door. He huffs out a breath in exasperation, “Holmes,” he says quietly with a fond smile, despite his annoyance at his friend’s carelessness. As he approaches Sherlock’s door he notices that the door is slightly open. He quietly sneaks a peek inside and is relieved to find that Sherlock is fast asleep, alone in his bed. John slips away as quietly as he had come and makes his way to the kitchen, but not before checking up on Rosie again. Noticing she’s still sound asleep, John returns to his mission of making Sherlock something to eat.

After he sets the kettle to boil he rummages around the kitchen and is surprised to find that Sherlock at least has the makings of a good breakfast fry-up in here. He smiles wistfully. Either John has to thank mrs Hudson for taking such good care of his favourite moron or he has Sherlock’s new beau to thank. If this is the work of the young brunet John grudgingly gives him some points.

A few minutes later and Sherlock’s breakfast-for-dinner is ready. John pours a cup of tea for him and places all the food onto a tray to carry over to Sherlock. Best John wake him and make him eat it while it’s warm.

Unfortunately as John puts the finishing touches on the meal, Rosie begins to stir. John sighs in defeat and leaves the meal on the table while he goes to collect his waking baby. Luckily, Rosie seems to be in a cheerful mood. “Dadah!” She says, then, with a cute yawn she rubs at her eye, questioning,”Ah Shewak?”

John picks her up. “Yes, we are at Sherlock’s. He’s sleeping right now though. So shhhhh!” He explains, pressing his fingers to his lips.

Rosie repeats the motion, a look of understanding on her tiny features, “Shhhhh” she whispers.

John smiles at her and adjusts her in his arms so that he can carry her in one arm and bring the tray over in the other. “Yep. Now come quietly - we’re going to bring him some food.”

Rosie watches with interest as John attempts to pick up the tray one handed. He struggles for a full minute when finally she begins to wiggle in annoyance.

“Da! Down!” She fusses.

“No, honey,” John says and lets go of the tray, attempting to regain control of his kamikaze toddler.

She fusses some more and finally kicks at his chest. Her little shoe flies off and hits him under the chin.

“Rosie!” John hisses, not wanting to wake Sherlock before he can bring over the meal.

Rosie gives John what can only be described as a Sherlockian glare of disapproval, “Down!” She hisses (hisses!) in return.

John, growing frustrated replies, “Fine!” And puts her down, but before he can lead her to her crib she dashes in the direction of Sherlock’s bedroom with the wobbling speed of a toddler filled with energy. John stares. To think, she’d only recently learned to walk and she was already running away from his authority. He couldn’t wait til her teen years. She’d be a whirlwind.

“Dadah!” Rosie whispers, holding onto the wall near the loo for leverage, “come!” She beckons (although it sounds more like “Tum!”) in the most adorably annoyed tone.

John shakes his head, “Alright, alright,” he replies, and picks up the tray of food, quickly catching up with Rosie, and allowing her to grasp onto his trouser’s fabric while he slowly moves towards Sherlock’s room with her. When they reach the door, John motions for Rosie to remain silent. She repeats the shushing motion from earlier and holds onto the door frame as John tiptoes into the room with the tray. He places the tray on the bedside table and takes a moment to stare at Sherlock in loving admiration. He lovingly brushes a lock of hair from his face with his fingers before bringing Rosie over. Rosie places her little hands at the side of Sherlock’s pillow and whispers, “Shewock. Up, up! Up, up, Shewock,” while tapping in the direction of his face.

Sherlock groans lightly and begins to stir.

“Up, up!” Rosie encourages until his eyelids flutter open and his irises focus on her.

“Hmm? Watson?” He whispers in confusion.

“Good evening, sleeping beauty,” John says gently from where he’s still standing, watching the affectionate exchange.

“John? What?” Sherlock asks, rubbing one eye as he sits up slowly and reaches over to bring Rosie onto the bed with him.

Once they settle, and Rosie is snuggled up to Sherlock’s side, John comes over and sits at the edge of the mattress. He reaches for the tray of food and extends it towards Sherlock. “Made you some dinner,” he says.

Sherlock blinks blearily and stares at the tray, “Thhhhhat’s breakfast.” He replies.

John smirks, “It’s breakfast food, yeah, but it’s dinner time. And it’s not my fault all you have is eggs, bread and bacon.”

Sherlock smirks in return, a little more awake now. To John’s surprise he doesn’t argue, instead he responds with the word: “Touché,” and reaches for the tea, sipping lightly, then picks up some toast and chews, his other hand wrapped around an extremely cuddly Rosie.

John shows his approval by giving him a pleased expression. “Come here, Rosie, let Sherlock have his meal,” he requests.

Sherlock surprises John again by tightening his arm around her. “She’s fine.” He says simply, and cuts a small piece of egg to feed her. Rosie chews it greedily.

“If you say so, but that’s meant to be for you, so don’t feed her all of it.” John scolds teasingly.

Sherlock grins, “What? She’s helping. Besides, I’m not going to deny a baby food.”

John rolls his eyes, “Fine,” he answers, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Fine! Do as you like.”

Sherlock laughs and Rosie babbles happily when he passes her another tiny piece of his eggs.

They spend the next few minutes of the meal in relative silence. Sherlock spends them feeding Rosie and himself and speaking to her quietly as he eats. He tells her about the temperature at which the eggs they’re eating turn from viscous liquid into the gelatinous solid they have become now and about the fats in the bacon melting away, also with added heat, to create this salty treat. John spends those minutes sitting at the edge of the bed, watching them with a soft pleasure while taking a short video as well as snapping a few photos to keep. They are so beautiful together.

After a few more minutes, right after John has snapped a particularly cute photo of Rosie chewing, Sherlock finally glances up at John. On reflex, John captures his sweet expression on camera. Sherlock has a kind smile on his face and a light flush in his cheeks, the combination making him look years younger. John puts his phone in his pocket and grins at his friend. “Hi, you,” he says, not completely unaware that the tone comes out a little flirtatious.

“Hi yourself,” comes Sherlock’s sly reply as he places his tray back on the side table.

John pauses, trying to figure out the best way to say what he wants. “So, em... listen, about this morning...” he begins, a hand brushing self-consciously at the back of his neck -

Sherlock groans and flops back against his pillows, “Must we...?” He asks. Rosie flops on top of him and sighs dramatically to emphasize his point.

John gives Sherlock a light smack on the knee, “It’s not what you’re thinking, you tit. I’m trying to say... Before I saw... you. I- I was here to talk to you –“

“–Obviously.”

John frowns, “Sherlock!”

Sherlock takes a dramatic breath and releasing it replies, “Fine! What is it you were here to talk to me about?” He throws both hands to his sides in irritation. Rosie copies him.

John raises a brow at Rosie. Little traitor. He takes a deep breath and attempts to sort out what he wants to say but he finds staring in Sherlock’s direction is making him loose his nerve. Finally, he decides to turn his face towards the wall in order to get it out, “I wanted...” he stalls, “these past few days... when we went on that case. You... you, er... you seemed... distant. And I thought. I dunno, perhaps you might be upset with me? I just. I dunno, wanted to make things right I guess. And I... wanted to say something. Something I’ve been meaning to say, but have never had the chance to say... or rather, never had the courage to-” John stops again.

Sherlock lies silently. He’s placed his arm back over his eyes again, aiming to look as non-chalant and needlessly dramatic as possible. On the inside his heart is beating uncontrollably and he feels his palms grow a little clammy with sweat. Outwardly he appears to be waiting patiently for John to get on with it.

John turns back towards him and with a lungful of air says... “Sherlock you know I appreciate everything you’ve done for me - for us, right? Everything you do, even? You’ve...” he struggles, “god I’m shit at this.” He scrubs his fingers through his hair and growls, starting over, “You’ve been a great friend Sherlock. You are a great friend, and I’m sorry I haven’t been a better one to you. I... I just wanted you to know that I see you. I see what you’ve done for me and I’m thankful for it - for you. I’m thankful for you. And I... I... care about you. A lot. And I guess what I’m trying to say is... I just - I want you to be happy, Sherlock. I’ll always want that for you. Always.”

Sherlock doesn’t know what to say. John isn’t prone to long sentimental speeches, no matter how much he constantly advocates for sentiment himself, yet here he sits and he’s just told Sherlock that he cares for him. He’s just outright said it. He wants Sherlock to be happy. And just what the hell is Sherlock supposed to say to that? It’s not like he can just admit that John is the only constant thing that has ever made him truly happy. Sherlock mentally scolds himself for daring to hope John’s words might be headed elsewhere, but he’d said ‘friend’. He’d never in this moment hinted at anything more. Sherlock has no idea how to respond and as the silence grows between them he feels like the air has begun to thicken.

“BAH!” Rosie interrupts, pouncing on Sherlock’s stomach and effectively bringing him back down to earth. Leave it to Watson to lighten the moment. Sherlock inwardly thanks Mary for giving them a Rosie, even if her doing so had broken Sherlock’s heart a little at the time.

“Oof!” Sherlock grins and removes his arm from his face in order to reach down with both hands and pick her up, holding her up high and then bringing her down for a kiss on her chubby little cheek. She giggles happily and returns his kiss with her own sloppy kisses. Sherlock sits up again, happy toddler in his arms and finally dares to look at John. He doesn’t know what else to say so he just murmurs “Thank you, John,” his tone coming off more timid than he thought it would.

John’s face is glowing with warmth at his response. At last he stands and opens up his arms for Rosie, “Come here, sweetheart, let’s give Sherlock some time to get up out of bed.”

Rosie whines in complaint but crawls over to John and allows him to pick her up.

Sherlock frowns at the action, “You aren’t leaving already, are you?” He asks, a sad look on his face.

John blinks at him. Does Sherlock really want them to stay? He definitely looks genuinely distraught. “Um... not if you don’t want us to...?”

“John,” Sherlock requests sternly, “please stay.”

Please stay? Jesus, The East Wind must have done a number on him today. “We’ll be right outside in the living room.” John promises.

With that John and Rosie exit and allow Sherlock to change and get himself rightly sorted. Once they leave Sherlock takes a moment to eat a few more bites of the meal John had prepared before rising out of bed and getting changed. He’d fallen asleep with a dress shirt and trousers and they were now decidedly quite rumpled. As he sorts through his shirt drawer for something comfortable he recalls something else he’d stuffed in a drawer. Sherlock’s brow wrinkles at the boldness of the brunet from last night. The note he’d left stabbed to Sherlock’s bedroom door had been hastily crumpled by Sherlock when he’d found it there before he left for Sherringford. He had resolutely stuffed into the drawer of his bedside table with a huff. ‘“Good luck with John,” indeed’ he thinks as he removes his dress mshirt. ‘As if there is even a chance.’ Sherlock rolls his eyes and pulls a t-shirt on over his head and changes into pyjama bottoms. He picks up a piece of left over bacon, stuffs it in his mouth angrily and grabs his now mostly empty tray of food to bring to the kitchen. ‘Stupid perceptive brunet. Stupid perceptive sister. Stupid John. Can’t believe I had to ask the idiot to stay. Of course I want you to stay, moron.’ If there was any truth in this world it was that, that Sherlock would always want John to stay. N

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual this chapter took an unexpected turn and I’m not sure where to go with this. I’ve got two paths im looking at right now and I dunno which to take. We’ll see how it goes. 
> 
> Ps. ROSIE!! You’re so cute!


	9. Doubt thou the Sun doth move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys hang out alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff.  
> No beta, no Brit-picking, very sparse editing.  
> I split this chapter into three to torture you guys. But also because I haven’t had time to write the rest. 
> 
> Okay I love you byeee. <3 <3

John sits out in the living room with Rosie, having collected a few toys for her from upstairs when Sherlock passes by on his way to the kitchen with his now mostly empty tray of food and a slice of the left over bacon in his mouth. Something about the way Sherlock saunters into the room, with a slightly grouchy expression makes John so very tempted to stand up and eat it right out of his mouth, if only to shock the visible irritation out of him. He of course doesn’t do it, mainly because the moment he thinks of doing it he recalls that he’d found Sherlock, just this morning, naked and debauched and wrapped around someone else’s body, sleeping contentedly. John turns his face away so Sherlock won’t catch a glimpse of the dark flash of jealousy that John is sure passes over his features. Because that is what it is: jealousy, pure barely-restrained jealousy. (‘ _You jealous?’ ‘We’re not a couple!’ ‘Yes you are.’_ ... no, we’re really not.)

When Sherlock returns they settle onto the carpet to entertain Rosie. She coos and laughs happily at the attention being showered on her. They spend the entire afternoon entertaining her, and as the evening wears on Sherlock's dark mood seems to wane. After a few hours, when she gets visibly sleepy, and John appears to have grown tired, Sherlock orders John a take-away and moves to the sofa to read Rosie a bed-time story until she falls asleep. John's heart feels full at the sight of them, as it always done. Sherlock is so perfect with her. After John eats he removes the sleeping baby from Sherlock’s arms and places her upstairs in her crib. He comes back down after setting up the baby monitor and finds that Sherlock has turned down the lights and put on the telly. He’s curled up by the arm rest with a blanket watching an old black-and-white film.

“It was mummi’s favourite, when we were children.” Sherlock explains, “I had forgotten. We used to watch them with her before Eurus... before she...” He pauses, then turns to John, as the other man sits beside him on the couch. “We don’t have to watch it if you don’t want to.”

Poor Sherlock. His day with Eurus must have been tough today. John often wonders what happens during Sherlock’s family visits with his sister, but he’s never had the heart to ask, and he doesn’t do so now. He can’t - not with the way Sherlock looks at the mention of her. The loss of his friend must really eat him up inside, especially knowing that it was his beloved little sister that took him from him. John sits next to Sherlock and murmurs gently, “Why wouldn’t I want to watch it?” His smile is soft and supportive.

Sherlock feels a lump in his throat at John’s kind words. There are too many emotions running rampant inside him right now. The pain of memories loss, the shock of victor’s loss still fresh within him because he never allowed himself to suffer for it before. The heartbreak at Eurus’ betrayal and mental health - her torture of himself and of his friend’s haunting him til now. But worst of all is the longing he has for the love of John Watson. He turns away from the doctor, looking resolutely at the screen instead of answering him. He can’t talk about it right now. He’d break down. He knows he would, and today had been such a lovely day after he’d come home from Eurus. Waking up to John and little Rosie was like a dream. And John had even made him breakfast in bed! Sherlock didn’t want today to end, ever.

Eventually Sherlock’s nerves calm a bit and his body relaxes as they sit in silence, just being there for each other. And that’s actually rather nice. They both unconsciously move closer to each other, Sherlock silently sharing his blanket and John accepting is as they concentrate on the movie.

_“Well, hello.” the man on the screen says to a young woman he’s dancing with._

_“Hello,” The young woman replies, “you look at me as if you didn’t know me.”_

_“Well, I don’t.” The man explains._

_“You’ve passed me on the street almost everyday,” is her response._

_“Me?”_

_“Mmhmm.”_

_“Ah no, that was a little girl named Mary Hatch - that wasn’t you...”_

“Isn’t this a Christmas film?” John asks, after a minute.

“Hmm.” Sherlock says, still not looking John, “Mycroft hates it.”

That doesn’t surprise John, but he asks anyway, “What? Why?”

“‘Too much sentimental twaddle.’ I believe were his exact words.” Sherlock smiles and speaks quietly, “I think Eurus would have hated it too, but back when we sat together with mummi to watch it she was much too young to understand it, or perhaps just too young to feel she could protest.”

“Hmm.” John says as they both fix their eyes on the events happening on the screen. After a minute John inquires of Sherlock, “And what about you?”

“Hmmm?” rumbles Sherlock.

“How do you feel about it?” John clarifies.

“‘Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side.’” Sherlock quotes himself, knowing John will have no idea what he’s talking about (since he wasn’t there at the time he spoke those words to Irene), “having said that... mummi seemed to enjoy it and I... well. I cared for mummi so I watched it with her. _That_ , and I don’t think I understood it enough to hate it back then.”

“But you hate it now?” John questions, confused. Sherlock doesn’t look like he hates it. He’s been smiling the whole time he’s been watching it. He’s even snorted out a short laugh at the screen once or twice.

“No,” Sherlock returns simply. ‘ _I wouldn’t be watching it if I hated it, idiot._ ’ He thinks, but doesn’t voice the thought.

John gives Sherlock a knowing grin. He’s really rather sweet sometimes, Sherlock is. He acts like he’s some paragon, and most of the time, John believes he is, but in the end... it’s like Sherlock had said, they might just all be human. And Sherlock is such a beautiful human - the most human human-being that John has ever known, in fact. John had meant those words when he’d first said them, and he means them now as he watches the other man’s skin glow in the low light of the television.

Sherlock is trying to concentrate hard on the film, but he can feel John watching him intently. His gaze is so piercing it makes Sherlock’s skin burn with want. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle and the air begins to feel sticky with words unsaid... but it’s different from the last time they had been together like this. The last time they’d sat by the telly and Sherlock had felt like this, they had both been somewhat drunk. Now... they were both sober and the desire was overwhelming him. He wasn’t sure how much he could control himself this time.

John feels a change in the air and shifts in his seat a little, his leg almost touching Sherlock’s as he leans subtly closer. Sherlock twitches slightly but doesn’t move away.

_“What is it you want Mary? What do you want? You want the moon?” The man onscreen asks, “just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down.” He pauses briefly as an epiphany crosses clearly through his mind, “Hey! That’s a pretty good idea!” The man exclaims, “I’ll give you the moon, Mary.”_

_‘What is it that you want Sherlock Holmes?’_ John thinks to himself, just as Sherlock thinks the same thing about John Watson.

John’s heated gaze is almost unbearable and Sherlock finally asks around a shy smile and a raised brow, “What?”

“Mm nothing.” John replies, but he can’t control the slightly husky rasp to his voice, or his flirtatious little smirk as he says, “Just enjoying the moment. You, all quiet like this. It’s rare.”

Sherlock is watching John intently now, a confused wrinkle on his brow as John looks back, his eyes calm and inviting while at the same time managing to look like they’re hiding a storm behind them, wild and ready to bear down on Sherlock at any moment. His lips are equally inviting, curved upwards in a small sensual smile. Sherlock feels a shiver down his spine.

All that while the man in the movie is speaking with his Mary _, “... then you could swallow it, and it would all dissolve, see? And the moonbeams’d shoot out of your fingers and your toes and the ends of your hair.” The man pauses on a soft intake of air, “am I talking too much?”_

_The couple in the movie grow closer together..._

_“Yes!” An old codger watching the couple interrupts, “Why don’t you kiss her instead of talking her to death?”_

Sherlock’s breath hitches in his throat as those very words are released into the air by the machine. It had almost become background noise, but right now, those words... they were... they were...

_“How’s that?” The movie star asks the old codger._

John swallows. Was this happening? Were they going to do this now? Please, God, let them do this now. John doesn’t care about Sherlock’s boyfriend. The thought of Sherlock with someone other than himself is suddenly unbearable -

_“I said ‘Why don’t you kiss her instead of talking her to death?’” The codger onscreen repeats._

_‘Yes,’_ Sherlock thinks, _‘Do it, John Watson.’_

 _“You want me to kiss her, huh?”_  
  
_‘Do it, please, John.’_

John is about to lean in when Sherlock’s phone makes a very familiar text alert noise, and John freezes. His eyes transform into ice chips and in a flash the moment is gone. It’s a text from The Woman. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So lol, who hates me right now?  
> XD I know this chapter is super short, it’s because I split it with the next chapter (s) I’m not sure if I’ll be splitting the next one as well most likely I will. You’ll see why. :D in the meantime. Enjoy. 
> 
> Ps. If you haven’t guessed already the movie they’re watching is the 1946 film “It’s a wonderful life” - if you’ve never heard of it (gasp!) the movie is about a really nice self-less man who spends his life making other people happy despite his sacrifices getting in the way of his dreams. At one point he ends up very down on his luck and he decides to commit suicide, thinking everyone will be better off without him. I thought that it rather paralleled Sherlock in that sense. The main reason I chose this film, however, is George’s (the main character) speech to Mary. I think it’s one of the most romantic moments in film history, and that’s nothing to say of the desperate love confession that comes later. If you haven’t seen it and you’re curious, I highly recommend it. It’s sweet, despite its old age. It’s not necessarily a completely romantic film, but it’s a nice one. It’s cute anyway.


	10. Doubt truth to be a liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have a good long talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no beta, no brit-pick, and very little editing as usual. 
> 
> So this chapter is really short, just like the last one. As I said, Originally this and the previous chapter were meant to be one chapter but I didn't want to make you guys wait. I thought leaving you off with Irene's text would be a fun place to stop the story while you waited. 
> 
> I think you'll enjoy this chapter, but it's mostly just a really long conversation that they very desperately need to have, in my opinion.
> 
> I tried to make it somewhat entertaining? :/ I dunno how i did tbh. I like it but uh I hope you do too.

_“Aww youth is wasted on the wrong people.” The old codger on screen complains._

 

The anger in John’s face disappears as quickly as the mood changes. Sherlock watches in disappointment as the doctor falls back against the couch, apparently no longer interested in… whatever it is he was going to do just now. That Woman! Of _course_ she had to text him right now in the middle of this... whatever this was.

 

“You’d better get that.” John finally says, his jaw clenched and his back appearing rigid while he inclines his head in the direction of Sherlock’s phone. It sits on the coffee table in front of them with Irene’s moniker of ‘The Woman’ flashing on its screen.

 

Sherlock scowls at the phone as if it has greatly offended him. “I’ve told you before, John. I don’t reply,” he whispers, slowly bringing his eyes back to the other man.

 

John looks at Sherlock sadly, “Don’t you?” He asks from where he sits. For once, the look on John’s face is open. It’s open and clear and Sherlock thinks – or he hopes that he’s reading it correctly. “John, you know I don’t.” Sherlock repeats, gently.

 

“So I just imagined you telling me that you _do_ reply to her?” John murmurs in return, “You told me yourself: ‘ _Sometimes_ ,’ you said,” He swallows, “you said that… that you can’t help it.”

 

Ah. That’s what he meant. _Oh, my dearest Watson._ Sherlock leans forward and rubs a hand on his forehead, a slight grimace on his face at the misunderstanding, “Okay, _yes_ , John, I _did_ say that, but _that’s_ not what I _meant_. Rather... It’s as I said before, they’re just texts. It doesn’t mean any–”

 

“Doesn’t it?” John says stonily, “And why is that Sherlock? Why doesn’t it? Because she loves you, you know that, don’t you? She _loves_ you. Doesn’t that mean anything to you at all?”

 

And that comment irritates Sherlock, so he replies, “Molly Hooper loves me too,” and with a wan smile adds, “But you don’t seem to mind as much when _she_ texts me.”

 

The words seem to hit John and for a moment he looks angry. He surprises Sherlock when after a calming breath he tells him: “I don’t mind that Irene texts you, Sherlock. I don’t mind that at all. I told you. I just want you to be happy.” He licks his lips attempting to pick his words carefully, “But it’s different with Molly because you obviously don’t feel anything for her.”

 

Sherlock frowns at that. “You’re wrong, John,” be replies softly, “I love Molly Hooper.”

 

At those words, John’s stomach drops. Sherlock… loves Molly? But – he - ? And what about that man from this morning? What about him? And why didn’t Sherlock ever say? He knows Molly -

 

“I love her the same way I love Irene.” Sherlock continues, pushing through John’s thoughts, “Don’t you see?”

 

John blinks, confused by Sherlock’s explanation, what in the hell is he saying? “... I d- what d’you... mean by that, Sherlock?” 

 

Sherlock rolls his eyes, “Must I spell it out for you?” He asks.

 

“‘M ‘fraid so.” John answers spreading his hands out in a show of defeat.

 

Sherlock gives him an exasperated sigh, “Fine.” He closes his eyes and takes another deep breath before replying, “I _mean_... that I love them the same way I love _Lestrade_ and Mrs. _Hudson_ and even that _idiot_ Billy.” Sherlock pauses, “I love them as my _friends_ , because that is what they _are_ , and that is all they will ever _be_. I love them because _I can’t be what they want me to be, John_. What I _can_ do is I can be their friend, and I can give them all the love and respect and gratitude that they deserve for ever daring to care about a person like me. Again, I can only do this _as a friend_. And that’s all this is - the texting. That’s what _Irene_ is. She’s my _friend_. She’s smart and funny and she helps me feel better when...” Sherlock hesitates ( _when you break my heart, John Watson_ ) “Whenever I need her, as _friends_ need each other. So Yes, I do reply. I reply when I need her help, and sometimes when she needs mine. Nothing... _romantic_ about it.” Sherlock stops. He turns to the screen and breathes, and John says nothing. What can he say? 

 

They both stare at the television in silence for another minute, neither one truly paying attention anymore. The silence of their voices in 221B tonight is charged with energy, and it feels like it’s leaking out of its confines by the second, sinking its claws over the soft story on the screen and firing a new bolt of lightning at every word that John and Sherlock dare to speak. 

 

John Watson feels himself gulp. He clears his throat and licks his lips before saying anything again, “What about your boyfriend then?”

 

Sherlock scowls, “boyfriend?” He asks. 

 

“The man?” John clarifies, drawing the ‘th’ in ‘The’, “From this morning? **Whom you were sleeping with**?” He emphasizes.

 

“Wro- hang on, what? He - you thought he was my _what_?” Sherlock sputters, incredulous.

 

“Your boyfriend?” John replies, perplexed by Sherlock’s response, “Sherlock you were sleeping with him. Naked. You - what am I supposed to think?” 

 

“John, he’s not my...” -And Sherlock sneers slightly at the word, “‘boyfriend’.”

 

John scowls, “Well then what the hell is he? Why were you sleeping with him?” 

 

Sherlock gives John a _look_. 

 

John blinks, “But you don’t - ... wait, do you?” he asks, inclining his head curiously.

 

The expression of incredulity on John’s face reminds Sherlock of the first night they’d met, when Sherlock had admitted to being a junky. _“Yeah but come on? ... no... you?”_ He’s said in disbelief. _Oh, John._ His blind faith in Sherlock’s moral character was really quite... sweet. Much like that first night they met, Sherlock continues to just _look_ at John until he believes him.

 

“Really?” John asks, “And you really aren’t... I dunno, doing this for a case or something?”

 

“John.” Sherlock replies, voice stern, “I answered that this morning. No.”

 

“So you were just sleeping with him...?” John asks.

 

“Yep.” Sherlock responds.

 

“For... for um...” John clears his throat, “sex?”

 

“Obviously,” comes Sherlock’s deadpan response.

 

“But... _Why_?” John questions, incredulous.

 

Sherlock chokes, “Why?” He sputters, “What d’you mean _why_? Why do people sleep with people John? What the _hell_ kind of a question is that?”

 

“No- it’s just. I dunno.” John fumbles for the right words, “It’s just - I always pictured you as more of a... well... ‘waiting for the right one’ kind of guy... I guess?” John finishes weakly.

 

Sherlock flops back on the couch and for a long time he says nothing, an arm thrown haphazardly over his eyes, repeating the motion from earlier in the day. There’s a slight grimace on his face, as if the conversation pains him when he finally admits, “I did.”

 

John blinks, “Sorry?”

 

“I waited. I waited a long time for... but when y- when we met I... things happened. The universe got in the way and then nothing happened between us. And now I... Eurus suggested that perhaps... ‘scratching the itch,’ to be delicate, might be a helpful course of action. That perhaps if I had -and when I say _had_ I’m being indelicate - someone it would help me get over it,” Sherlock explains, borrowing the phrase from his friend.

 

John is silent again for a minute. He leans forward to get a better look at Sherlock’s face. “And did it? Help, I mean?” He asks this sensing that the answer won't be a positive one.

 

Sherlock’s sad smile is back, confirming John's thoughts, “Not much.” He admits. “But it’s not like I can openly admit my feelings.”

 

John frowns, “Well, why not? You never know unless you try,” he encourages.

 

Sherlock hesitates, “it’s not that simple,” he replies. 

 

The look of frustration on John’s face is still there, but his voice is sweet when he says, “Nothing ever is with you, is it?”

 

Sherlock laughs lightly at this, though it’s a miserable little laugh. “No, John. It truly never is.”

 

John pats his knee, preparing himself to be supportive of Sherlock, “Well, go on, tell us what’s wrong. What’s stopping the great Sherlock Holmes from going after what he wants?”

 

Sherlock chuckles sadly again, “Well, John, there’s the minor setback of me being a homosexual man rather than a heterosexual woman. For a while I’d hoped... well, I'd hoped that it wouldn't be an issue, but I was wrong. My hopes and my sentiment - they blinded me. Still blind me to this day in fact, when it comes to him. I see meaning in things where I shouldn’t see meaning at all. It makes things... difficult, I never know what he’s thinking. But when I look at all the evidence objectively - all signs point to a hopeless situation. Even despite all we’ve been through together, or perhaps because of it.” 

 

John is silent. Sherlock had never admitted something so personal to him. So Sherlock _is_ gay. It isn’t a shock. John sort of assumed Sherlock didn’t necessarily care about labels like that (or gender, really) but he never wanted to assume that he had a preference. So,  he’s gay, then. He’s gay and he has fallen in love with a straight bloke. And he’d waited for him but nothing had ever happened between them because this guy, whoever he was, would see Sherlock’s gender as a barrier... John feels a lump in his throat for Sherlock’s sake. It’s a sad situation, but probably not an uncommon one. His heart aches for him. It must be very difficult for Sherlock, to feel like that and not be able to have what he wants. But then John wonders at who it could be. Who in their right mind could be friends with Sherlock and not think he was a great man? Who is it that Sherlock had waiting for all that time? Who is it that Sherlock is actively trying to forget by...? 

 

As far as John knows, Sherlock doesn’t have that many friends, and the pool of straight men that John _personally_ knows of is kind of small. John could only think of three straight men who had ever called Sherlock a ‘friend’: There was Sebastian Wilkes, who had called Sherlock his ‘chum’ (though he had been a dick and John sincerely hoped, for Sherlock’s sake it wasn’t him he was pining after), then there was Phillip Anderson (which would be a tremendous surprise for everyone, because that is so incredibly unlikely), and Greg Lestrade (which would be the most likely suspect, John supposed considering their long standing relationship, but confusing as hell because Sherlock maintains, to this day, that he cannot remember Greg’s first name - of course this could be an elaborate way for Sherlock to hide his feelings...)

 

Sherlock is still leaning back but now his arm has left his eyes and there's a look of defeat in his eyes as he stares at the ceiling. “You’re thinking too loudly. Stop it,” He says, sounding tired.

 

John leans back to join him, his hand slipping back away from Sherlock again, “Sorry.” He looks at Sherlock with a grin, “I suppose I was just curious about who it is. I mean there’s only so many straight blokes that I can think of and out of all of them Greg is the only one that makes any sense.”

 

Sherlock frowns, still looking at the ceiling and asks, in complete seriousness, “Who in the _hell_ is Greg?”

 

John really can’t tell if he’s being serious, “... Sherlo- really?! Greg Lestrade??” He asks, and he almost laughs at Sherlock’s expression as he bodily turns towards John in shock at his question. “Lestra-!” Sherlock exclaims, “Wait - _what_?” 

 

John finally cracks and starts giggling, “Sorry! Sorry! It’s just that, well he’s the only half-way decent straight bloke that you know, isn’t he? At least, as far as I know...” he pauses then because Sherlock has a strange expression on his face as he simply stares at John unblinkingly, “What?! Why are you looking at me like that?” 

 

“John.” Sherlock says seriously, with a slight tremble in his voice, “I know you can be very self-depreciating but I’d hope that you see yourself as someone who is at least half-way decent.”

 

“What? Well, no I do, but-” John asks, confused, “Wait... you think I’m straight?”

 

The expression on Sherlock’s face is now completely irritated, “Well what? Am I supposed to think otherwise Dr. John Hamish ‘I am not gay’ Watson?” He asks in a huff. 

 

John raises a brow, “I - Well, yeah I’m _not_ gay, Sherlock -“ at Sherlock’s look of utter confusion he adds, ”look I suppose if we’re labeling it I’m about half-way on the er, Kinsey scale - _Bisexual_...? I think is the technical term...” The way Sherlock is looking at him is confusing the hell out of him completely, it’s the look he gets when he’s discovered something new, and John adds, “Sorry, I always assumed you knew that?”

 

Sherlock looks completely lost, “How in the _hell_ was I supposed to know that if you never told me?” He growls.

 

John shrugs, annoyed, “Well I assumed you’d deduced it, somehow, you being an overly observant genius and all that!” 

 

Sherlock continues to give John that odd look of confusion, “John, you know my methods, deduction requires data. All the data I know about you points to you being straight.”

 

John blinks. He was sure Sherlock has caught him checking guys out before. He must have done, mustn't he? Nothing gets past him does it? And John had never really been good at hiding his adoring looks at Sherlock, hard as he might try. Apparently he was better at hiding it than he thought. Finally he asks, “What evidence? _How?_ ” 

 

Sherlock huffs and counts the reasons on three fingers, “You only date women. You’d said on many occasions that you’re not gay - stop I know, I misunderstood - but how was I supposed to know what you meant? - and then you married, _yes **married**_ a **woman** _and had a baby with her._ Where in all that was I supposed to deduce that you are, in fact, a bisexual?”

 

“I don’t know Sherlock! Sometimes you just seem to know things! You stole my birth certificate to find out my middle name! I wasn’t sure you really had any sense of personal boundaries! How was I supposed to know you didn’t know everything about me?” John responds, now more than a bit irritated at Sherlock's obviously annoyed responses. 

 

“Yes, well.” Sherlock says, uncomfortably, “There’s always something.” (‘ _Something comforting about the number three’_ he remembers himself telling Culverton. ‘ _Ugh, Sherlock, amateur mistake_ ’ he hears a voice in his head tell him. The voice sounds suspiciously like Mycroft’s).

 

John and Sherlock are silent once again, contemplating their entire conversation. Well, wasn't tonight a night of surprises for both of them? But there's just one thing John still doesn't know...  
  
  


“Yes well, that still leaves the question with as to who the straight bloke you’re pining after is.” John finally remarks. 

 

There's an abrupt movement beside him and when John turns to look Sherlock is blinking at him rapidly, like the time John had told him that he was his best friend, except this time Sherlock looks impossibly even more dumbfounded. Staring at him, Sherlock just says “... John,” in a blank disbelieving tone.

 

John stares. Oh wait- ! _What_? Oh! _What?!_ Oh. _Oh!_ John feels his face heat up with embarrassment. Sherlock meant... so all this time? And John had thought...? Well, shit! He’d really fucked this up hadn’t he? And Sherlock is just looking at him, and he still looks sad, for some reason. Why is he sad? John loves him back! He has to know that... doesn’t he? But... he doesn’t does he? He’d just said that he can’t tell, with John. And that makes up John’s mind. If it isn’t obvious that John feels the same way for Sherlock, he’ll have to make it obvious, won’t he? 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know what's coming but I don't want to spoil the next chapter for you, even if it's pretty obvious where this is going.   
> I almost didn't split this, but as September has begun and I'm looking at a full course load I don't want to make you feel like you're waiting too long for them to at least realize they love each other. I do have at least one or two more chapters but I think we're getting close to the end now. I don't want to spoil the rest so I won't tell you whether or not i have any more surprises in store for them though. Anyway, enjoy?


	11. But never doubt I Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> now kiss!! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, very little editing, no beta and not brit-picking happened.
> 
> \--  
> Now for you author note:
> 
> Do the smoochies! Do the smoochies! Do the smoochies! Kisses! Smoochies and Kisses for days! Yay yay yay yay yay!! Kisses!  
>    
> Guys this whole chapter is mostly sex. It’s... That’s it. It’s smut. That’s - yeah. So... uh smut. I think it's a good place to end it, right? 
> 
> Uh huh... Look I tried.

John realizes that he’s been silent for far too long and Sherlock looks like he’s about to run. John can’t let that happen - he won’t let that happen. In an instant, John grabs hold of Sherlock’s shirt and shoulder, flips himself over the other man and pushes Sherlock down onto the couch. He looks into Sherlock’s eyes, and they’re a mix of confused and terrified and that just won’t do. John gives himself a determined inward nod and just goes for it - his lips meet Sherlock’s in a desperate kiss and John is relieved when he finally feels Sherlock relax and whine into his mouth.

 

“John,” Sherlock says, between kisses. He grabs at John tightly and repeats “John! John, John,” into his mouth. He sounds so, so needy that John’s heart breaks a little. How could he have been so bloody _stupid_? How had he not been able to see it? Sherlock had jumped off a rooftop to save his life. Sherlock had shot a man who threatened John’s life with his wife. Sherlock had let Mary shoot him and still supported John’s marriage and love for her, even though he’d almost fucking died when she’d done it. Sherlock had put himself through hell with Culverton and taken a beating from John and blamed himself for the death of John’s wife - for John’s grief. John had almost lost him then, and again when Sherlock had fought Eurus and almost killed himself, just so he wouldn’t have to choose between the lives of two people that he loved. John was an absolute moron for not seeing it, and right now he decides that he will spend the rest of his life letting Sherlock know how much he adores him.

 

John continues to kiss Sherlock over and over, he presses his lips to his mouth, his cheek, his neck and back to his mouth again. “Sherlock!” He whispers, “Sherlock, I’m so sorry. Sherlock, I’m such an idiot. Oh fuck Sherlock,” he cries as the kiss just grows more and more heated. John feels Sherlock’s tongue against his lips and sucks it into his mouth with a groan. Sherlock responds with a pleased moan of his own and John decides to better position himself over Sherlock. He lifts a leg around Sherlock’s waist until he’s sitting over him and grinds down. Sherlock grabs hold of his back with a growl and arches against him while they continue to suck and lick into each other’s mouths. John suddenly finds himself thrusting a still clothed erection slowly against Sherlock’s now also evident tented pyjamas while they kiss and he moans again. 

 

“God, Sherlock,” John says, “God, I want you more than anything.”

 

“Mmn,” Sherlock rumbles seductively, “Then take me, John.“

 

And my aren’t those words the greatest thing John’s ever heard. “You sure?” John whispers playfully around their kiss and nipping at Sherlock’s lower lip.

 

“No one else has ever mattered.” Sherlock responds, groaning as John licks a line up from his adam’s apple to the corner of his jaw in response, “Not like you do,” he adds. 

 

John breathes him in, “Good,” he says, “that’s good,” then giggles, staring again, “god, I’ve really been such a moron haven’t I?” 

 

Sherlock’s rumbling laugh jostles him a bit as the detective responds, “in your defence, we’ve both been rather stupid. I can’t believe I didn’t realize-“ 

 

And then John smirks, remembering Sherlock’s earlier confession, “You said you couldn’t tell with me...” he begins, moving up to grin at Sherlock...

 

Sherlock groans, this time in annoyance, “Do shut up, John.”

 

John’s grin grows larger, “No! You said - you said your _feelings_ for me blinded you. That you can’t always tell what I’m thinking because you’re afraid it’s wishful thinking on your part!” He teases.

 

“I did _not_ say that.” Sherlock growls.

 

“You did!” John laughs.

 

Sherlock sniffs, “Not verbatim.”

 

John can’t help the sniggers that escape his mouth at Sherlock’s pouting. He’s so sweet, and those lips are really just perfect. John kisses him softly and leans his forehead against Sherlock’s, “No, not verbatim, but it’s what you _meant_.”

 

“Fine.” Sherlock admits, “Fine, so what?”

 

“You _love_ me.” John’s grin feels like it’s been permanently fixed to his face. Sherlock blushes prettily but doesn’t respond. John’s smile grows wider and he hungrily takes another deep kiss from Sherlock’s lips. He feels almost drunk on the taste of him as he tells him, “I love you too, Sherlock. You know that now, right? You _have_ to know that.” 

 

Sherlock swallows around a sudden lump in his throat. John loves him? John _loves him!_ He’s so happy he could cry. Thinking that that might be a little too embarrassing for him he decides instead to pull John’s face towards himself, begging for another heated kiss. John surprises him however, and gives him something even better. 

 

This kiss is slow and sensual. It’s methodical and exploratory and oh so seductive. Their tongues swirl around each other in a complicated dance, tasting and sucking and licking at the inside of the other’s mouth. Sherlock is lost in bliss. This is what he’d been waiting for. This is an unfathomable amount of times better than anything Sherlock could have ever have hoped to experience with anyone else. All those temporary comforts - none of them could compare to this. This is like fireworks. It is like lightning. It is like falling off a rooftop except this time when he falls he lands in John’s strong, wonderful, perfect arms. And this is just a _kiss_! Imagine... imagine...! A shiver runs through Sherlock’s spine and he groans as he thinks of what more would feel like. Sex with John Watson, that must be paradise, and Sherlock is overcome with the need to have that, _right now._  

 

“John.” He says, breaking away from their kiss, “John take your clothes off.” He breathes. 

 

John pants breathlessly and his eyes cloud over at the thought. “Oh, god, yes.” He replies and begins to remove his shirt. 

 

“Wait!” Sherlock suddenly pleas, placing a hand on his arm - because much as he wants this, the thought has just occurred to him. He refuses to ever sleep on this couch again. “Wait,” he explains more calmly, “let’s... perhaps the bed would serve better...?” 

 

John blinks but then leans down to give Sherlock a light peck on his lips before standing and saying, “Sherlock Holmes, you are a fantastic genius.” 

 

 

Sherlock’s legs wobble as John helps him to stand. “Sorry,” he mumbles, as he takes John’s hand. 

 

John just smiles kindly and presses a hand to his face. “Not a worry,” he replies, as he leads them both towards Sherlock’s room. They fumble down the hall, both a little weak in the knees as they each take turns stopping to kiss the other - to paw at each other’s clothes and arms and chest, grabbing and holding each other in their frenzy. 

 

It seems almost an eternity before Sherlock finally, (finally!) feels the bed against the back of his knees and John allows him to drop back onto it unceremoniously. He climbs up over Sherlock and kisses him again and again, their panting and groaning filling the room with the heat of years worth of unfulfilled sexual tension. Their bodies writhe against each other of their own accord, their hands sliding underneath fabric in light teasing touches. “Clothes, John,” Sherlock repeats, attempting to pull John’s shirt and jumper off of him while still attached to the man’s lips. John pulls back and silently tears the offending items off of himself and stoops back down to latch onto Sherlock’s neck, racking his hands up Sherlock’s torso underneath his top and tweaking a nipple with his fingers. Sherlock keens with the pleasure of it. John is... he’s so... 

 

“Amazing,” John whispers against Sherlock’s skin, “you are fantastic, you are extraordinary, beautiful, perfect, wonderful,” he adds between sucking and licking at him. 

 

Sherlock fumbles with John’s trousers and John allows him to until Sherlock has snaked his hand in and grasped onto John’s hard aching cock. 

 

“Fuck,” John whispers, his forehead pressed against Sherlock’s for a second time this evening. He pants into Sherlock’s mouth as the other man first presses a finger against the tip of his cock, teasing him and then begins to stroke it slowly and deliberately, his long nimble fingers wrapped securely around it in a perfect ring. “My god,” John gasps while Sherlock jerks him in that same slow pace.

 

Sherlock purrs in approval and grows bolder. He lifts his head to whisper in John’s ear, “Let me taste you, Captain Watson,” and he licks the shell of his ear for emphasis, biting it as he slides his face away to look at John from beneath his lashes. 

 

John whines. Sherlock is going to ruin him isn’t he? This is going to be so good and so perfect that John will be ruined for anyone else after this - he just _knows_ it. Ah well, it’s not like there will ever be anyone more interesting than Sherlock out there anyway. God and he’s such a sultry creature, lying there biting his lip, waiting for John to respond to him. “Fuck yes.” John breathes, “but I need you to naked first,” he instructs, slipping back to allow Sherlock to strip. They remove their clothes in record time and collide into each other as soon as they’re both completely unburdened by fabric. They kneel on the bed, pressed chest to chest against each other, running their hands over the other’s naked and heated flesh until John pauses. His hands have run over Sherlock’s naked back and he feels something... strange. 

 

“Sherlock,” he says in a worried tone as he pulls away from him in hesitation. 

 

Sherlock’s eyes are foggy as he separates from John, attempting to come back towards him as he asks, “Hmm?”

 

But John holds Sherlock back, waiting until his eyes are clear, “Sherlock,” John says again, to get his attention, then asks, as he runs a hand over what feels like some slightly raised flesh similar to some other points he’d felt further in, “What’s this on your back?” 

 

At that Sherlock’s eyes fully clear and he sits back, out of John’s grasp. “Nothing.” He replies, an arm wrapped around his torso to grasp at his other arm. 

 

“Sherlock.” John says his name in a stern tone, “I’m serious. When did that happen?” He attempts to lean forward, to hold Sherlock to him, to physically turn him around, but Sherlock pulls away again. 

 

“I don’t want to talk about that, John.” He glares, pulling back again. 

 

John searches his eyes in disbelief, “Listen to me, you beautiful idiot,” John replies, “you are going to tell me who in the fuck did that to you and if that piece of shit is still alive you’re going to point me in his or her direction so I can beat the living hell out of them.” John’s voice is alight with a righteous fury on Sherlock's behalf.

 

Sherlock’s eyes grow heated at John’s command and then soft as the exact meaning behind his words sink in. He smiles sadly and opens his arms to pull John towards him. As John comes back to him, pressing forward, Sherlock lies back, pulling the man over him once more. He kisses John’s cheek before answering, “It was years ago. It doesn’t matter now. And as for who... Mycroft probably took care of that for you, one way or another.”

 

John lies down fully, his face on Sherlock’s chest and he brings a blanket over them. “It matters to me, Sherlock,” he whispers, kissing Sherlock’s clavicle, “When exactly...?”

 

Sherlock pets John’s hair and stares up at the ceiling, willing himself not to allow any sort of tears. “It was...” he begins, then swallows, clearing his throat lightly, “It happened while I was away,” he reveals. “Mor-“ and he clears his throat again at the mention of the name of one of the people he most fears, “sorry, Moriarty’s network was... vast and - unpleasant. It wasn’t - look, I’m fine, now., so just don’t-” 

 

But John has raised himself on an arm to listen, staring at his face as he talks and the more Sherlock speaks, the more John understands. He’s always assumed and acted like Sherlock was off on some grand romantic adventure while he was away, but John has never actually thought about the reality of it. Sherlock has endured so much more than what he lets on. These are scars from obvious torture. If John has to guess, he’d say Sherlock was flogged, and from the way the skin is still raised in its scarring, John has to assume that he was unable to take care of his injuries properly. The thought of Sherlock, frightened, angry and alone, enduring this kind of thing brings tears to John’s eyes. The thought of any other sort of pain he might have endured while he was out there, alone with no back-up, breaks John’s heart and he thinks, not for the first time tonight, that he has been such a _fucking idiot_ for not seeing it before. Dammit Sherlock, he thinks, what did they do to you?

 

John pulls Sherlock to himself and holds him tightly. Sherlock swallows back tears and says nothing. He resolutely stares at John’s chest from his new position of his face, buried in the crook of John’s neck. “It’s really nothing, John. I’m fine,” he repeats.

 

John just grabs hold of him tightly again. He squeezes Sherlock to his chest and kisses the top of his head, messing up his soft curls in his frantic embrace. Sherlock finally stops him, wiping tears away from John’s face and laches onto his mouth with his own. He doesn’t want John to be upset about this too. It’s in the past. John had already mourned for Sherlock’s death and the guilt of that had tortured Sherlock more than any physical pain he had endured during those two years. Sherlock doesn’t want John to mourn for him any more.  He wants John to be happy. He wants to enjoy this moment with him. 

 

Finally John seems to understand. As Sherlock kisses him desperately once more, he gets it. Sherlock doesn’t want to think about it. It’s probably too painful a memory and if John can give this to him to help him forget, even for a little while, then he will. He’ll do everything he can to show Sherlock how much he loves him. He grasps onto Sherlock firmly, pulls him over his body and begins running his hands over Sherlock’s skin again, his hands rubbing lightly at the side of his ribs and then spreading over his back. He sucks on Sherlock’s neck, bites the end of an ear, licks inside his mouth, nips at his lips, clings to him and writhes against the other man as he responds with panting and groaning. He feels his cock begin to swell again and Sherlock’s stiffness is there against his leg. 

 

They continue to frot against one another for what seems like ages and John can start to feel a teasing tingling sensation growing stronger in his lower belly. They go on like this until finally Sherlock growls, “Enough!” and pulls away from John. He begins to lick at his jaw, holding John’s arms down at his sides and sucking a trail of kisses down lower and lower. 

 

John holds still and allows Sherlock to do what he wants. Whatever he wants. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

 

Sherlock reaches John’s swollen length within seconds and feels his mouth water with the thought of John’s thick cock inside of it. Sherlock looks up as he grasps John’s dick and finds John is holding himself up on his elbows to get a better look at Sherlock bent over and laying between his spread legs. Sherlock smirks. He brings his lips to the head of John’s cock and presses a light kiss to it. He continues to watch John for a reaction and when he sees John swallow he turns his head slightly and licks a long trailing line up the shaft. He turns the other way and does it again, lathing it with his tongue as seductively as he can. He then brings his lips up over the head again and sinks the ring of his mouth down to envelope John’s cock. He hollows his cheeks in a suck and then begins to bob his head up and down around John.

 

John moans at the feeling of Sherlock working at him. _God_ , his _mouth_. Sherlock Holmes is a fucking revelation. He has never had anyone give him a blow job like this. It’s as if Sherlock knows _exactly_ what John wants. Shit, he’s probably deduced it - and that thought, that _idea_ drives John mad. He thrusts up into the detective’s warm inviting lips, and savours teasing sensation of Sherlock’s light sucking. He groans at the feeling of Sherlock’s throat on a particularly deep thrust - melts at the touch of Sherlock’s fingers rolling his balls in his hand as dextrously as when he plays the violin. “Ah-hah. _Fuck_ , Sherlock!” John places a hand on Sherlock’s face and feels himself against the man’s cheek. Sherlock looks absolutely marvellous like this, his lips shining with saliva and _fuck,_ if he goes on his this John definitely won’t last. He moves his hand to Sherlock’s hair and tugs, gently. “Stop,” he says huskily, “Stop or I won’t be able to stop you, and I don’t want this to end yet.”

 

Sherlock pouts slightly, but complies, pulling back and off of John in one last long motion. He kisses the head of John’s cock once more but then crawls back up over John’s body and lays on him. He has half his face pressed against John’s chest and he brings a hand up to trace a pattern on his pectorals. 

 

John smiles as he feels his pounding heart calming down in his chest. “You’re too good at that.” He murmurs. 

 

Sherlock preens and grinning rather proudly he states, “You were enjoying it.”

 

“Oh, very, very much.” John replies instantly, grabbing hold of Sherlock’s hand to play with his fingers, “And someday you will let me know who I have to thank for teaching you _that_.”

 

Sherlock scoffs, “As if I’ll ever tell you any of their names.” 

 

John frowns, “Their? As in _multiple_?”

 

Sherlock raises a brow, “Problem, Doctor?”

 

John’s jaw stiffens, “Several.” He states, looking at the ceiling.

 

Sherlock’s scowl grows deeper, “Are you going to elaborate?” He asks, slightly annoyed. 

 

John sighs, releasing some of the tension that has taken over his body, “Look, as the man who loves you and the man who put you through so much pain when I should have been there for you - what you’ve done and who you’ve done it with doesn’t bother me so long as none of it has put you at any kind of risk or harm... alright?” He says, looking back at Sherlock, “but I am your doctor after all, so as your _doctor_ , I would sincerely hope you used protection. And yes, I’m aware you didn’t just now, you caught me off guard, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be asking for them tonight.” 

 

Sherlock huffs, “I’m clean. I promise.”

 

John raises a brow, “You sure?” 

 

“One hundred percent.” Sherlock replies, annoyed. 

 

John feels his teeth grind as he asks the next question, “and the man from this morning?” 

 

“He sent me his records before he -“ and then Sherlock stops because he’s just realized something, “-Wait. John... are you..?”

 

“No.” John answers quickly, and suddenly flips Sherlock onto his back, this time holding his arms above his head. He sinks down to kiss Sherlock in order to distract him, but it’s too late. Sherlock already knows.

 

John feels Sherlock’s smug smile against his lips before he hears Sherlock accuse teasingly, “You are! John Watson _you_ are _jealous_!”

 

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer, Holmes.” John growls, “Condoms - where are they?” 

 

Sherlock rolls his eyes, “Outside. Desk drawer.” 

 

John raises a brow, “that’s a long way to travel for a condom...” he states.

 

Sherlock turns his face to the side and mumbles something.

 

“What’s that?” John asks. 

 

“I never brought them in the bedroom.” Sherlock repeats, this time clear enough to be understood by human beings. 

 

“Oh.” John replies, then he smirks, “because they weren’t me?” 

 

Sherlock tsk’s, “Shut up and get the condoms,” he says, and adds “And the lube while you’re at it.”

 

John retreats to go get the items, and as he walks out the door says, “Always knew you’d be a bossy lay.” 

 

Sherlock takes this moment to re-arrange himself comfortably on the bed. He starts to touch himself and slowly brings a hand down to tease a finger over his entrance while he hears John route around in the living room. Sherlock throws his head back allowing himself to enjoy this moment. When John comes back Sherlock is going to ask him to fuck him. He can imagine the reaction now. He groans at the thought of it and finally inserts his finger, pressing into his entrance in a light tease. As he hears John returning Sherlock presses it in deeper then pulls in out slowly and sinks it back in, establishing a rhythm.

 

“Alright you mad bastard I’ve -“ John stops dead in his tracks. The vision of Sherlock bloody Holmes fucking himself on the bed is... something else. John’s mouth waters at the sight of him. Dear god. Is this Sherlock’s way of saying... of asking...? 

 

Sherlock arches his back, stretching his neck in an open display of lust and pants, “Well, are you going to come over here and help me with this or are you just going to stand there and watch?” He lowers his body and looks at John, pupils blown wide and beckons John to him. 

 

John shakes his head to wake himself and steps over to Sherlock, making quick work of climbing over him to kiss and suck at his torso. “You...” he says, “are going to pay for that.”

 

Sherlock shivers at the thought. John grasps onto the hand stroking Sherlock’s cock and gives it two more pulls before removing Sherlock’s hand and pressing it to his side. “No more of that, now, Holmes,” John whispers against Sherlock’s belly. He brings his other hand towards the one still inserting a finger inside of Sherlock and pulls it out, pressing that one to the side as well, but releasing it in favour of spreading Sherlock’s thighs open himself. John gives Sherlock a sultry look and begins to crawl back, licking a trail down past Sherlock’s pubis, between his thigh and his pelvis and down lower and lower until he reaches his prize. Sherlock’s tight hole is already a little prepared from Sherlock’s eager finger, but now John is going to spread it open with his mouth. 

 

Sherlock’s eyes open wide at the sensation. John’s really going to do it, isn’t he? He’s going to give Sherlock a fucking rim job. “Ah!” Sherlock breathes as he feels John’s tongue enter him, and fuck if that’s not amazing. Sherlock feels the heat in his abdomen grow stronger and his cock swell impossibly more. Jesus, it aches to be touched, but as soon as Sherlock tries to move his hand, John holds it down in a vice grip and growls a warning into him. 

 

 _Okay. No touching. Got it._ Sherlock whines as John begins to interchange his swirling tongue with a finger, opening him wider. Sherlock feels his legs trembling as John works him open. He brings his free hand up over his eyes and pants, thinking to himself, ‘ _don’t touch. John doesn’t want you to yet. Control, Sherlock. Have some self-control.’_ Suddenly he feels his body light up like a flame as John reaches _that_ spot inside him. _Of course_ the Doctor would find his prostate in no time. God, Sherlock had fantasized about that enough times. He squirms in John’s grip and cries out a soft “Fuck,” Before he sinks back down again. John rumbles his approval from below and keeps on licking and stretching him open. The teasing touch drives him mad. The soft wet muscle of John's tongue fucking him is simply fantastic. He knows his body is perfectly relaxed with the pleasure of it all. God, John's tongue! Where did he learn to do this? _Fuck. It's so good._ Soon it begins to feel like too much and Sherlock feels like his entire body is engulfed in fire. 

 

“John!” He cries, “John that’s enough, please - I need - I need -“ he stutters.

 

John stiffens as a thought runs through his head at Sherlock’s begging tone, _‘I would have you right here on this desk until you begged for mercy twice.’-‘I’ve never begged for mercy in my life.’-‘Twice.’_ And dammit, Irene was a right witch and John _hated_ to remember her right now but fuck if she didn’t have the right idea. Sherlock was an absolute treasure like this: hot, sweaty, needy and begging for release. John can barely restrain himself. He pulls away with one last swipe of his tongue and reaches for the condoms and lube. Sherlock watches John from his position on the bed looking utterly debauched. His lips are swollen red, some hickeys are starting to appear in areas of his skin that John has nipped and bitten at, his nipples are taught and pert and his legs are splayed open, waiting for John to settle between them again. 

 

“You’re quite the sight,” John teases as he rolls the condom onto himself and begins to coat his cock in lubricant. 

 

“Hmm. You should see the view from down here.” Sherlock replies evenly as his eyes roam over John’s form. 

 

“Committing it to memory, are you?” John asks, with a knowing smile.

 

“I would hope it’s unnecessary, but yes.” Sherlock says, watching as John squirts some lube into his palm and begins to stroke his dick. “Now,” Sherlock says, lifting his hips slightly, “Are you going to fuck me, Doctor Watson, or are you going to continue to tease?” 

 

John’s grin is wicked as he grabs hold of Sherlock’s hips and pulls him forward, “C’mere, you,” he grunts and brings his lube coated fingers into Sherlock’s entrance once more. Sherlock circles his hips in a tease and John laughs a little, stroking his long leg with his free hand, “You,” he says, pinching Sherlock’s ass cheek, “really ought to learn to stop being such a cocky smart-arse.”

 

Sherlock bites his bottom lip and murmurs, “You going to make me... Captain?” 

 

John doesn’t answer, instead he crooks his fingers inside of Sherlock reaching his prostate again. Predictably, Sherlock shudders and his body begins to spasm as John continues to tease him with light touches. "J-John!" Sherlock whimpers. John just keeps his steady pace, making his mind up then. He isn't going to stop teasing until Sherlock _begs_ him to. Sherlock's legs begin to tremble and a flush of red begins to bloom on his chest, creeping its way up to Sherlock's neck and face. He looks bloody marvelous. Sherlock is sweating and panting, his mouth is open in a silent scream of pleasure as sultry little sobs escape through his lips in a frantic rhythm. Finally Sherlock pleads, "John, please, _please, **please**_ **,** I _need_ you."

 

Those were just the words John had been waiting for. Looking pleased, John mercifully takes himself in hand and coats his throbbing cock in a bit more lube before lining himself up at Sherlock's entrance. Leaning forward, John lifts one of Sherlock's legs up over one of his shoulders and kisses his shin before asking, "Ready?"

 

Sherlock can't find any words to say, so he just nods, his eyes begging John to continue. With a gentle squeeze to Sherlock's leg, and quick kiss to the inside of his knee, John enters him. He grunts when he feels the head of his cock is completely enveloped inside of Sherlock and stops himself, wanting to be careful with his lover. Sherlock, however, has other ideas. He wraps his other leg around John, and with a pull that is much more forceful than a person of Sherlock's body type looks capable of achieving, drags John forward and further into his body. His cock is coated in so much lube that he slips inside of him quite easily. "Move, John," Sherlock commands and John doesn't have to be told twice. He starts his movements slowly, pushing in and out of Sherlock to get him used to the sensation of him inside. Sherlock reciprocates by pushing against John, continuing to bring him closer to himself until John finally almost falls forward over him.

 

John braces himself with his arms surrounding Sherlock and grins at him, "Hello," he greets, coming face to face with Sherlock, if at a slightly awkward angle because of their height difference.

 

"Hi," Sherlock responds, shifting himself a little uncomfortably to be able to nip and John's lips.

 

John kisses him sweetly in return and then begins another trail of kisses down to Sherlock's neck, where he once again decides to suck on the man's throat. Sherlock marvels at John's obsession with that part of him and grasps onto the back of John's head. He stretches to pull his head back and expose more of his throat. He allows another low moan to escape him. That seems to spur John forward as he drives his hips harder against Sherlock now, burying himself deeper and deeper. "Yes, John! F... just like that," Sherlock encourages. John's hips roll at a sinuous pace. Sherlock leans his head back once more, his low pants and whines coming back. He savours the feeling of fullness with John's cock sliding in and out of him. He pulls his arms around John and brings him closer still. John brings a hand down and begins to pull on Sherlock's now incredibly and painfully hardened cock. John is riding him into oblivion now. He can feel it as the combined sensation of John's cock inside him and his now moving hand make Sherlock feel a frantic pounding in his heart. He feels his body and mind begin to loose all inhibitions as he starts to sigh and moan slightly louder than before.

 

John is in a flurry of pleasure at Sherlock's reactions to his every touch. The man is so demanding and confident about what he wants, it's intoxicating. John supposes it's because Sherlock has waited long enough for this... And god the guilt over his own stupidity just makes him want to please him more. John strokes Sherlock more firmly, pushes himself in deeper and harder. He writhes into Sherlock with a purpose and a warm glow grows stronger in his chest at every instance in which Sherlock repeats his name in those soft breathy groans. He grins at Sherlock's incoherent pleas of "Yes! Yes, yes!" and "More, more, more - Harder, _faster_ \- _more_ \- there, THERE, _THERE_!" And John is panting and grunting as much as Sherlock, relishing the touch of skin on skin. The feeling of Sherlock's tight ring of muscles clenching around his cock, squeezing him as they move is one of pure rapturous perfection. John wonders, not for the first time tonight, what he did to deserve the affection of such a beguiling and unparalleled man. He's surely the luckiest man on earth. 

  
Sherlock's deep, guttural and utterly primal groans bring John back into the moment. The man looks lost in his own euphoria. He's moaning unabashedly now and John can tell that he's on the edge of it, just like him. "Fuck," John whispers, "Fuck, Sherlock, I'm getting close. I'm nearly..." Sherlock opens his eyes and stares at John with an expression of a man lost in the deepest of ecstasies. "Yes, John, I'm... don't stop. Please don't stop!" He begs again. And there's not a thing in the world that could make John stop. Not now, not ever. The noises their bodies make are every bit as erotic as the gratified sobs being wrenched unbidden from each of their throats. The heat of them has spread through the whole room making it humid, making them slick with their sweat. Sherlock's pleas have grown incoherent once more and John is so close, so close, _so close_.

 

Ribbons of semen suddenly splash out onto John's belly and coat his hand with the slick white liquid. Sherlock has arched his back completely, scratching at John's back with blunt yet sharp fingernails. He's crying out in a loud exhale as his body shivers and spasms with his release. John shudders at the site of Sherlock's face - those gorgeous eyes open wide in an expression of surprise and his mouth open in an "Oh!"

That expression sends John over the edge. It isn't long before his thrusts grow out of control and he's pushing into Sherlock infinitely harder than he'd thought he could - once, twice, three times until he feels nothing but a blinding white heat envelop him. His mind goes completely blank as the semen is milked out if his cock. John comes with a grunt and thrusts into Sherlock in his aftershock two more times before he finally collapses over the other man.

 

The two lay there, panting, their hearts slowly coming down from the adrenaline of the moment. Neither of them has the strength to even move. "That- that- was..." John breathes.

 

"Amazing?" Sherlock asks, his voice smug as he adds, "Incredible? Marvelous? Spectacular? Miraculous...? _Incandescent_...?"

  
John laughs and nods lightly, his hand running over Sherlock's chest. "Yes, yes, that. All of that," he replies, "You smug bastard."

 

"Yes, well, I did just fuck _the_ Doctor John Hamish Watson, formerly Captain of the fifth Northumberland Fussiliers." Sherlock quips.

 

John shakes his head at him and finally separates himself from his detective. "You've a filthy mouth, you know that?" He says, slapping Sherlock softly on the knee as he gets up to remove his condom and moves towards the door to go grab a rag from the bathroom with which to clean them both up. "Be right back." He whispers.

 

Sherlock yawns, suddenly very tired. "You'd better," he mumbles sleepily.

 

When John returns Sherlock is snoring quietly. That was quick. He gives the man a fond smile and steps forward, wiping him clean. He then takes a few linens out of Sherlock's closet and does his best to arrange them over the sweat-covered sheets. This is exceedingly difficult as Sherlock is lying like a heavy stone deep in slumber on his side. John finally gives up and just climbs into the bed, throwing the duvet over himself and Sherlock. Sherlock, for his part, quickly snuggles up to John, holding him close in his sleep. John sighs contently, brushing away a curl and kissing Sherlock's forehead,

 

"Goodnight, Sherlock," He mumbles, "I love you."

 

Sherlock snuffles, and tightens his grip on John. John strokes his fingers through his hair until sleep finally claims him as well. After a few minutes both men are snoring soundly in a blissful and dreamless sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be reminded that my experience with this stuff (the smut) just comes from other fan fictions so I may be incredibly inaccurate. (I’ve mentioned it before but I’m actually asexual lol) I have a basic understanding and whatever I've read in other fics. I’m just making this shit up as I go and hoping that it sounds in character for them. Can’t really imagine it myself so you can imagine my difficulties writing this chapter but despite that I think it’s relatively okay? I’m definitely happier with how this story turned out as opposed to my other fanfics thus far (does this mean I’m getting ... better?) 
> 
> No, it doesn't because I had a few plot-holes and beginning notes that ended up going in a completely different direction. Also, um I completely forgot to mention Sherlock using protection earlier so that was... bad. Lol! Whoops! I didn’t mention it but i like to say he did because Sherlock isn’t that careless. The last guy before John though... :/ oops \\_(‘-‘)_/ Sawwryy Sherlock. Um I’ll edit it later??? Forgive me, cinnamon roll~~! (in my defence you got to sleep with John and unnamed guy was nice and didn’t give you any diseases so you win in the end. And John loves you. ... don’t hate me. John probably hates me. He’s going to beat me up, I know it.)
> 
> Anyway I’m going to go now because if I keep talking to myself people are going to think I’m crazy. I hope you enjoyed the story. :) 
> 
> Ps. I’m planning a short epilogue with Eurus, btw. Hopefully it gets done, but if it doesn’t, enjoy this as your ending chapter. The smut and copious kisses are my gift to you. Thank you for your patience, love and support of this short story. 
> 
> Love,   
> -B


	12. Epilogue in Three Parts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys find that this is a nice way to wake up  
> The boys go on a family outing  
> Eurus encounters True Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this came out a little later than I wanted it too. Why? Because it ended up being the equivalent of me writing three chapters into one epilogue. Apparently I had a lot more to write on this story than I thought. Forgive me for the late post, enjoy the final ending.  
> -  
> B
> 
> Ps. This is not beta'd or brit-picked or edited.
> 
> pps. technically four parts but the last part is really really short.

**Part 1: Ridiculous **

Sherlock’s body is wrapped around John like an octopus. John’s pretty sure that the arm that the man has sequestered as his pillow is as asleep as the man that lies snuggled on it snoring quietly. A memory comes unbidden to John as he watches Sherlock sleep soundly, _‘Is yours a snorer?_ ’ John smiles, ‘Guess so,’ his inner voice answers. 

 

Sherlock, as if sensing that someone is thinking about him, shifts in his sleep and snakes an arm around John’s chest. He somehow pulls himself closer, his head now partially on John’s chest. John shifts a little at the movement, until he can move the previously crushed arm to stretch his tingling fingers. 

 

Sherlock groans something incoherent.

 

“Shhhhh.” John quiets him, using his half-asleep hand to stroke through Sherlock’s curls comfortingly, the same way he’d done last night.

 

Sherlock purrs but despite John’s efforts, blinks himself awake. “Mmm’ nope. ‘S too late, John. ‘M already up. You woke me - terribly bad form,” he slurs. 

 

John can’t help it. He giggles and swats Sherlock’s shoulder, “You’re the one that moved, you wanker.”

 

Sherlock grins, his eyes clearing of their morning fog and he silently traces a finger on John’s chest.

 

“Good morning.” John says to him, bringing his free hand to curl around Sherlock’s fingers. 

 

“It certainly is,” Sherlock replies, still smiling and looking up at John from his position. 

 

“Come here.” John instructs Sherlock, shifting so he can reach for Sherlock’s face. He has a sudden overwhelming urge to kiss the skinny bastard. 

 

Sherlock, however, pulls away, though his smile is still evident as he teasingly covers his mouth, “No, John,” he whines around a shy grin as John follows him up. 

 

John gives Sherlock a soft moue but backs off and takes hold of Sherlock’s  hands, asking, “What’s wrong?” 

 

“Morning breath.” Sherlock states in his ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ voice. 

 

John laughs and pounces on Sherlock, holding him down as he teases him for a kiss, “Oh, I’m sorry, Sherlock, does this bother you?”

 

“No! John!” Sherlock laughs, half-heartedly pulling away now.

 

“Oh, it _doesn’t_ bother you?” John says playfully, “Okay then, here I come...!” He puckers his lips comically and wrestles Sherlock, attempting to kiss his mouth. As they giggle and struggle, he manages to get at Sherlock’s eye, the corner of his mouth, the side of his cheekbone and his chin until Sherlock finally loses and John captures his mouth, slipping his tongue in for good measure. 

 

Sherlock at once gives up struggling and hums into the embrace, freeing his hands and wrapping his arms around John’s neck. They begin a slow luxurious writhing as they kiss, lazily rubbing against each other in the morning’s bliss... that is, until suddenly they hear a loud thunk followed by the crash of something plastic breaking upstairs. The sound is followed by the high-pitched and distinct voice of little Rosie Watson, screeching: “SHEWWWAAAAAAHHH!!! WHE AAAHHHH YOOOOUUUUUU!!!” 

 

Sherlock and John finally blink themselves to awareness as both look to each other in shock, gasping, “The baby!” They scramble out of bed and each man takes one of Sherlock’s robes, wrapping it firmly around themselves and rushing up the stairs to investigate the screeching toddler. 

 

Rosie is half-way though shouting “SHEWAAAHH-“ again, when they reach her room and scramble inside. Rosie is standing in her crib, holding onto the rail and wobbling on top of two of her pillows and her stuffed elephant, which she has piled on near the stand where once stood a baby monitor. The baby monitor, which is now shattered, lies in pieces by the wall near the door of the bedroom. “Oh!” Rosie startles, blinking, “Dahdah,” She says, as if she just realized her father also exists. 

 

John raises a brow at her, “Well that’s one way to greet your dad,” he comments with a fond smile as he reaches for her, “Now what have you been up to, young lady.” 

 

Rosie babbles in explanation. 

 

“Oh yes, you must have been very distraught,” John agrees, then, turning to Sherlock, who is now riffling through the drawers picking out fresh clothes for Rosie, he asks, “mind passing me a fresh nappy for her first? She’s due for a change.” 

 

“Of course, John.” Sherlock replies, passing John the nappy as the other moves to Rosie’s changing table.

 

At Sherlock’s voice Rosie struggles in John’s arms to point at the door and the broken monitor while she says, “Oops! Uh-oh! Mess, Shewah!”

 

Sherlock nods, bringing her little clothes over as John begins to clean her up, “A heinous crime, indeed, Watson,” he says, seriously, “but I rather think we have a very clear suspect in this case.” 

 

Rosie grins innocently and answers, “Elfant?” Referring to her stuffed pink and very inanimate friend.

 

John sniggers. That’s just too adorable.

 

Sherlock raises a brow, “Don’t encourage her, John,” then turning to Rosie he continues, “Watson, if you’re going to frame someone, at least make sure they’re animate. It’ll make your argument much more believable.” 

 

Rosie merely giggles, allowing John to pull the little yellow top Sherlock had picked out for her over her head. 

 

“You’re teaching her to commit crimes now?” John laughs as he puts her little legs into her pants. 

 

Sherlock shrugs, “If she’s going to be a criminal, she might as well be a good one.” 

 

“You’ll regret saying that when she’s fourteen and she starts pulling the wool over your eyes.” John replies, picking her up and handing her to Sherlock, “You’ll be powerless to stop her.”

 

“Please, John if Little Watson manages to outsmart me when she’s fourteen she’ll _deserve_ the right to get away with it,” Sherlock returns, as he takes  Rosie into his arms and favours her with their ritual Eskimo kiss, “Won’t you, darling?” 

 

John has gone over to pick up the broken monitor and he’s midway through gathering up the mess when he replays Sherlock’s words in his head, “Hang on,” he says with a smirk, “since when do you call her darling?”

 

Sherlock’s neck goes a little scarlet but his face is impassive when he asks, “Problem?” 

 

“Do I have a problem with my b- er - lover adoring my daughter? No.” John bungles the sentence a little almost referring to Sherlock as his ‘boyfriend’. ‘ _Bold assumption there Watson_ ,’ he thinks to himself, panicking slightly. Sherlock will have caught that.

 

Sherlock hides his blushing smile by burying his face between his shoulder and Rosie. John had almost said ‘ _boyfriend_ ’! And while Sherlock abhors that particular word as a descriptor, he absolutely loves the idea of _John_ considering _Sherlock_ his _boyfriend_. He feels himself vibrating with the pleasure and excitement of it. “Perhaps...” he says, quietly - voice slightly muffled by its place by Rosie’s little arm - “... partner?”

 

John releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He grins widely and takes a step towards the two people he loves most in the world.  “Yes, yes I think that’s alright,” he says in a hushed tone. He reaches a hand towards Sherlock, who slowly brings his face back into view, revealing an adorable pink dusting on his cheeks, the remnants of a blush. Sherlock takes John’s hand and pulls him forward until their foreheads touch and their lips are only a couple of inches apart. 

 

“KISS!” Rosie shouts, “Kiss, kiss, kiss!”

 

Sherlock and John burst into amused giggles at her innocence. 

 

“Sure, Rosie, whatever you say,” John responds, giving Sherlock a peck on the lips. 

 

“Mmmmmuuuaa!” Rosie says, blowing a kiss in their direction. 

 

Sherlock’s blush deepens and he kisses the top of Rosie’s head as an excuse to hide his rouged cheeks from John - despite the fact that John has probably already noticed. John gives him another peck on the cheek followed by one for Rosie and whispers, “I love you. I love you both so much.”

 

“The feeling is mutual,” Sherlock returns, voice equally soft and tender. 

 

They stand there for a moment, both men with their faces brought close together. For the first time in years John feels like he and Sherlock are finally okay and he is overjoyed. He hadn’t realized how separated he’d felt from the other man since he’d returned from the dead, but now he knew, they’d been eons apart. Well, no more of that. John would make it his absolute mission to never lose this again.

 

With a happy sigh, John finally comes away from them. “Well.” He says, “better finish cleaning this up or I’ll never do it.” 

 

“Hmm,” Sherlock agrees, and hesitating slightly, asks, “... John? ... When you finish... perhaps a shower and then breakfast...?”

 

“Out?”

 

“Mmhmm.”

 

“Like... a date?” John asks carefully.

 

Sherlock shrugs a little, still feeling annoyingly shy, but he plows onward with attempted confidence, “Not sure people normally have breakfast dates let alone bring their babies... but yes, essentially.”

 

“I’d love that.” John smiles, “Get Rosie’s things while I shower, will you?”

 

“Of course, John.” Sherlock replies with a nod, and stepping out of the bedroom, speaks directly to Rosie, “Come on, darling, let’s leave daddy to clean up that mess you made all by himself,” the last bit clearly meant as a tease towards John. 

 

John laughs, ”Stop encouraging her criminal behaviour, Sherlock,” then to Rosie, “I’m only cleaning up after you because I don’t want you hurting yourself on the sharp bits, mind, young lady,” John playfully chastises her as they leave, his voice calling out to the short hall.

 

Sherlock chuckles and calls back, “As if she fully understands you yet,” and he begins their descent down the stairs.

 

Meanwhile, Rosie nods smiling and exclaiming “ok dahdah, buh bye,” and waves at him as Sherlock bounces her while they descend the stairs. She claps her hands at the bouncing, chanting, “Hop, hop, hop!” 

 

Sherlock brings Rosie over to the couch and finds the telly still on. He switches channels distractedly until he finds something on that’s appropriate for her age. Rosie cheers and settles in to watch, one of her little arms wrapped around what she can reach of his waist and her head resting on his belly. Sherlock holds her close, thinking of her father. He feels his whole body tingle with warmth at the memory of John kissing him right here last night. He touches his fingers to his lips. He could still taste him, and it wasn’t just because John had kissed him again (again!!!) this morning after a brilliant night of ... well. And he had slept in Sherlock’s bed with him. He’d held him throughout the night and stayed till morning. John had even been so bold as to bring their relationship into more serious territory. He’d almost said _boyfriend_. He’d _agreed_ to be _partners_. This was all happening so fast! It was overwhelming - but in a good way. He could feel himself smiling like an idiot but for once he didn’t care. John loves him. He _loves_ him! 

 

“Whoo-hoo!” A knock at the door wakes Sherlock from his thoughts and Sherlock realizes that he’d been thinking much too hard as he hadn’t noticed the shower begin to run. 

 

“Huddews!” Rosie exclaims as Mrs. Hudson lets herself in, carrying Sherlock’s customary morning tea. 

 

“Oh! Good morning loves!” She coos, “I didn’t realize John had stayed over,” She adds towards Sherlock, though there’s something in the way she says it that makes Sherlock think that she might not be being altogether honest about that. 

 

Sherlock feels his cheeks glow for what feels like the hundredth time this morning and he finds he’s still grinning stupidly when he replies, “Yes, well. They came over after he picked Watson up from yours yesterday. He made dinner and then we watched a film. He... stayed quite late and Rosie was asleep so... He’s having a shower at the moment and then we’re taking Rosie out for breakfast.”

 

Mrs. Hudson gives Sherlock a knowing look. “Did he? That’s quite nice of him,” then moving closer to Sherlock she reaches her arms out for Rosie and continues, “now why don’t you let me take that little darling from you so you can pack up her things and get ready for your family outing?” 

 

Sherlock eyes her suspiciously, “If you wouldn’t mind…” he begins, hesitating slightly… she’s up to something, he can feel it.

 

“Oh, it’s not a worry, love, not a worry at all. I’ll take her downstairs with me for a biscuit and a cuddle while you pack up her things. You can come pick her up when you’re ready,” she says, taking the baby as Sherlock hands her over, still eyeing Mrs. Hudson.  
  
“Thank you…” Sherlock says slowly, standing to walk them both through the door, and handing Mrs. Hudson and Rosie a couple of toys.

 

Taking the toys and the baby with her, Mrs. Hudson turns and gives him a wicked smile. While she exits 221B and makes her way down the stairs she comments, “And perhaps you’d like to have a shower as well?”

 

Sherlock slams the door closed in embarrassment. His face feels like it’s on fire and he almost trips on his way back to the living room. Why, that nosy old harpy -! He can hear her laughing from here! …Although… he supposes that the idea isn’t one that he’s averse to…

 

Sherlock grabs Rosie’s day-bag from where John had left it on his chair yesterday and makes quick work of putting Rosie’s things together, rushing upstairs to grab extra nappies, grabbing her toddler snacks and formula from the refrigerator – check, check and check! Sherlock surveys the contents of the bag one last time, and satisfied with it practically crashes into the bathroom door before stopping. He takes one deep breath, exhales and then enters the bathroom as quietly as he can. Once inside he can hear the sound of John humming lightly over the spray of water. Sherlock smirks and peels off his robe, letting it drop to the ground. With a shaky hand Sherlock finally speaks, making his way into the shower, “Hello, Doctor Watson,” he rumbles.

 

John jumps slightly, but smirks as he turns around, “Hello, Detective Sherlock Holmes,” he greets as he turns around to fully appreciate the sight of Sherlock’s naked and soon to be wet body. He lets his eyes bore every bit of heat he’s feeling for the man into those observant grey irises.

 

Sherlock’s lips turn up as he rumbles again, taking another step towards John, “Consulting Detective.”

 

“Hmm,” John intones, his nose drifting over Sherlock’s shoulder as the other man rubs his cheek against the side of John’s face. “Well, Consulting Detective Holmes… I hope,” he pauses to kiss Sherlock’s shoulder, “That you didn’t wake up the landlady just so you could come in here…” another kiss, this one on his neck, “because that might be considered by some…” this kiss is on Sherlock’s jaw, “to be a bit not decent.”

 

Sherlock groans, “To hell with decent,” he replies, “I want you… and she woke herself up. Practically pushed me in here herself – the interfering old buzzard.”

 

And to be honest, John would have been a lot more embarrassed at that revelation if he wasn’t so turned on at the moment. No, his interfering landlady is the last thing he’s thinking about right now. Instead, John is thinking of the many thousands of ways with which he could make Sherlock moan and grunt his name. John sighs as he mouths at Sherlock’s skin, rubs his hands up the other man’s arms until he reaches his neck, brings them up further to pull that face down for a searing embrace. As predicted, Sherlock melts in his arms, a low sound escaping him as he lets John twist his tongue into his mouth.

 

Sherlock returns John’s kiss with equal enthusiasm, nipping and sucking on John’s lips in a repeat of last night, but this time Sherlock is surer. This time, he’s more confident. This time, Sherlock rubs his arms over John’s shoulders and brings them down over the expanse of his chest, feeling the wetness of his skin and following the trail of his hair down to John’s abdomen, then bringing his arms back up to skim his palms over John’s peaking nipples.

 

It’s John’s turn to groan now and he does so with abandon, allowing Sherlock to tilt his head further, deepening their already sinking kiss. Sherlock continues to run his hands and fingers up and down John’s torso and his arms as John lowers them to take hold of Sherlock’s perfect slender hips, his thumbs rubbing small circles in reciprocation and approval of Sherlock’s touch. Sherlock grows bolder and growling into John’s mouth and teasing his nipples again.

 

“Unf… god, Sherlock,” John breathes, “Much as I’m loving this,” he pants, “You’d better get on with it if we want to make it to breakfast on time.”

 

Sherlock pouts, but brings his hands to John’s hips anyway and abruptly pulls John to him so that their erections rub against the other’s body. “Better?” Sherlock asks, with a roll of his hips.

 

John feels his eyes go hooded at the sensation. He lets his body answer Sherlock’s question as he begins to allow his inhibitions to just drain away with every jerk of Sherlock’s hips against him. He lets that sweet warmth run over him, making his back tingle and his body shiver in ecstasy.

 

“John,” Sherlock whispers against his skin. The two men pant, each canting their hips forward and back in time with the other, savoring the sharp hard lines and rough pulling strength of the other. Their low guttural grunts fill the already steaming room as they push and pull, and nip and suck at the other man. Sherlock begins to grow impatient and finally ends up adjusting himself so the silky slick skin of his wet cock is against John’s own swollen one. Sherlock wraps a long-fingered hand around both of them and for two seconds John can do nothing but stare. That is, until Sherlock reaches with his other hand over John’s shoulder to grab the conditioner from the caddy and uncaps it one-handed in order to squirt some of the slippery liquid between them, making the sensation of their wet cocks fucking into Sherlock’s hand that much more pleasurable. And the sight of it. God, it’s so filthy – it’s driving John mad.

 

“Fuck me,” Sherlock tells him, “Fuck my hand, John. Feel my cock pulsing against yours. Feel how hard you make me.”

 

And oh god, that voice. Sherlock could kill a man with that voice. John ruts up into Sherlock’s hand, wrapping one of his own and helping Sherlock squeeze them tighter together still, following his hand and helping him increase the speed of their jerking.

 

“Yes, John.” Sherlock huffs into John’s shoulder.

 

John begins to feel the heat inside him grow more insistent - “Sherlo- Sherl- Oh fuck, I’m close. I’m getting so close,” he says through gritted teeth.

 

Sherlock doesn’t answer, simply continues to stroke them both. His other hand lets the conditioner bottle fall to the floor with a loud thunk and he grabs onto John’s back to steady himself, John does the same with his arm. He feels Sherlock growing more frantic in his stroking, feels his own hand and legs buckling as well as they get closer and closer to finishing. Finally, John feels that bold white heat explode out of him as he cums in their hands. He can’t help his reaction and in a subconscious attempt to keep quiet, lest their land-lady somehow overhears the shout that wants to erupt out of him, John bites down between Sherlock’s neck and shoulder. That, of course, sends Sherlock over the edge, and he spills himself over John with a violent shudder as his orgasm rips through him.

 

“Brilliant.” John comments, pressing his forehead to Sherlock’s as the other man continues to pant and shudder in the aftermath, releasing their softening cocks and just holding on to one another for support with their other arms.

 

John’s comment makes Sherlock chuckle, bringing forth a purely contented sound from low in his throat as he agrees, “Yes, ridiculously so.”

 

That throws John into a fit of giggles and he replies, bringing up an old memory, “You’re the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.”

 

Sherlock laughs harder at the reminder of that conversation and replies seductively, “And you invaded Afghanistan.”

 

John laughs along with him, his giggles sounding as high-pitched as they had the first time, but John finds he doesn’t care, not when he feels like this.

 

“Come on,” Sherlock finally says around a smile, tapping John’s shoulder and straightening up his body, “Shove over so I can get clean. We won’t make it to breakfast if we dawdle any longer.”

 

John sighs, “Fine, you’re right. And I want to avoid Mrs. Hudson’s smug look of approval as much as possible as well.” He pinches Sherlock’s ass, eliciting a slight yip from the (consulting) detective adding, “I blame you for that by the way, with your loud screaming.”

 

Sherlock turns, slicking now shampoo smothered hair back out of his face and tilts his head at John, “Oh, but Captain, you so do enjoy the sound of my voice.” He says in that low sex-oozing baritone of his.

 

John bites the inside of his lip, “Breakfast, Holmes,” He reminds him.

 

“If you want to make it in one piece, don’t pinch my arse again, Watson,” is Sherlock’s sly reply.

 

John rolls his eyes and steals the soap.

 

 

 

\-------------

 

** Part 2: Coincidence **

 

John and Sherlock sit with Rosie out in the patio of rather swanky café. Their hostess has just left them with the menus and has swept off but not before bringing Rosie something to entertain herself with. Rosie distractedly plays with some crayons the woman has brought her and scribbles with not a single ounce of hand-eye co-ordination all over the blank white paper set as a table cloth before her, murmuring to herself in awe. The men await the arrival of their waiter as their eyes stray to one another over the tops of the tall elegant cards causing them to break out into stupid goofy grins and cut-off eye contact, lest they begin to giggle helplessly.

 

As the men attempt to distract themselves by staring at anything but each other, clearing their throats in a transparent show of both shyness and excitement, a voice interrupts them saying, “Hi, welcome to our café, I’ll be your waiter, my name is –” and as the two men begin to turn their attention towards the speaker. The owner of the voice – their waiter – gasps in recognition, “Sherls?” He asks.

 

Sherlock’s eyes widen in panic. Shit. “Josh? What are you …?” he begins slowly, not finishing the question.

 

John looks between the two men. He’s confused by Sherlock’s sudden and somewhat panicked expression. Who the _hell_ is this Josh guy? And why is he so familiar.

 

Josh finishes Sherlock’s question for him. “Doing here? I _work_ here…” He stammers, his shy smile is hesitant but John can see right through it and at once he remembers where he’s seen that smile and this guy – this was the supposed neighbor John had seen exiting Sherlock’s home a couple of weeks ago – the guy who was supposedly helping Sherlock “ _put up some shelves_ …” and, had that been a _fucking_ _euphemism_? Because if it was, John is instantly infuriated.

 

The waiter bats his eyelashes and continues, “What are _you_ doing here?”

 

“Oh… er…” Sherlock looks to John, blushing brightly and at the very clearly angry expression on John’s face becomes puzzled, which makes him fumble for words some more, “I’m just having breakfast with my er…” and he wants to say partner or boyfriend, but the way John is looking at him, he isn’t sure he should, so he just lets the sentence hang.

 

Josh finally looks over to John, as if noticing him for the first time and laughs nervously (and whether that’s because John is shooting daggers at him or because he feels guilty for not noticing him sooner, John isn’t sure) saying, “Oh, my, yes of course. So nice to meet you, Sir, I’m an… acquaintance of Sherl-lock’s,” he fumbles over Sherlock’s name, his eyes shifting to Sherlock for guidance, as if he were about to call him ‘Sherls’ again, and that just makes John want to punch him more.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” John answers with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

Josh laughs nervously, “Thank you, er –“ and he hesitates, John didn’t give his name, and out of spite he chooses not to answer now.

 

“John,” Sherlock supplies mercifully, “Doctor John Watson.”

 

“Right,” Josh smiles, “Thank you Doctor Watson. And might I say, you’ve quite a lovely little daughter. She’s really just too sweet,” he rambles, clearly attempting to clear away that scary look on John’s face.

 

It doesn’t work, he merely raises a brow and states, still with his false grin, “Yes, she is quite lovely isn’t she?”

 

Josh gives a little nervous half-laugh-half-noise of assent.

 

There’s a long awkward pause and then Sherlock finally says, “Coffee! I would love some coffee. Just over at the bar? John, can I get you anything? Tea?” Sherlock begins to stand, stunning the poor waiter. John’s expression only darkens as Sherlock states, tugging on Josh’s top, “Come along Josh, don’t think we’re quite ready to order. I’ll just get the drinks myself, shall I?”

 

John watches with barely disguised fury as Sherlock places a hand at the small of the man’s back and ushers him over to the bar. Once they get there Sherlock speaks first to a barista standing behind a counter and orders, presumably, the beverages he is clearly using as a pretext to talk to this “Josh” fellow. John seethes as predictably, Sherlock turns to Josh and whispers to him urgently. Josh looks like a deer in headlights as he nods along until finally they both laugh nervously. Sherlock says something else to him and then Josh hands Sherlock his notepad and a pen – and Sherlock smiles and says something else before he very quickly scribbles something onto the little book. John can’t see what Sherlock has written, but his deductive skills have increased exponentially since returning to more regular adventures with Holmes and John just knew that what Sherlock was writing down was a bloody phone number. Josh pats Sherlock on the back and scuttles away to the back, hopefully to do his goddamn job.

 

John is already fuming when Sherlock returns with to the table with their coffee and tea. “Josh says he’ll send over another waiter or waitress,” Sherlock explains, giving John a hesitant smile.

 

“Oh?” John asks casually, “And why’s that?”

 

“Oh, well, I told him it feels odd to have him serving me breakfast. After all he’s our neighbor…” Sherlock lies.

John glares at him and pounds a fist on the table a little more forcefully than he thought he would. “I know he isn’t your neighbor Sherlock,” he mutters darkly.

 

Sherlock attempts to laugh it off, “Don’t be silly, John, of course he’s–“

 

“No.” John replies, and very bluntly continues, “I know he’s one of them – One of your ex- _lovers_.”

 

Sherlock’s nervous laughter would be funny right now, if John weren’t so mad at him. “Ah. Well, I supposed even _you_ would have deduced that eventually…” he answers, “But you can see why I might find it a _bit_ uncomfortable having him as our waiter.”

 

John takes in a deep breath and exhales slowly but the evidence that it has no effect is quite clear when he hisses, “And how many more waiters are we going to encounter on our nice family outings?”

 

Sherlock starts, affronted, “John–!”

 

“And how many of them,” John pushes through, “are you going to give your number to?”

 

And that pisses Sherlock off, “MY _WHAT?!_ ” Sherlock exclaims the words without a care who’s sitting nearby. “John, what the HELL is going on in that funny little head of yours? You think that I was giving Josh my– That doesn’t even make any sense, John!”

 

“Sherlock,” John warns, “You’re making a scene.”

 

Sherlock glares daggers at him and with a raised brow he says in a calmly dangerous voice, “Oh, _I’m_ making a scene, John? It’s _me_ that’s making a scene?”

 

John hears his mistake as it is repeated back to him and tries to calm the explosion that is sure to erupt at any moment, he raises his hands, placating, “No, Sherlock that’s not what I–”

 

But Sherlock isn’t listening – he is not having any of this shit anymore. He loves John Watson but he will no longer allow John to blame him for any of the stupid conclusions that his silly little brain comes up with. No, Sherlock Holmes is not going to put up with this. He is livid, “–Really, John?” Sherlock continues, speaking rapidly, “I’m the one making a scene? You start looking at our waiter as if you’re going to kill him the minute he speaks to me with an ounce of familiarity, making me have to go through the trouble of removing him from our presence before you smash your fist into his face (or whatever it is you were tempted to do just then) and when I return you start questioning me about it as if I have done something wrong? No, Doctor Watson, I rather think if anyone here is causing a scene it isn’t me who’s doing it.”

 

John looks away from Sherlock and manages to catch a glimpse of Josh exiting the back of the restaurant. Their eyes meet and John glares at the man. The poor waiter returns to the back guiltily with the look of a deer caught in headlights.

 

Rosie looks between the two of them and begins to fuss. John is still fuming and looking at anything but Sherlock. The detective stands abruptly and picks up the squirming toddler, “Come on, darling.” Sherlock says to her, gently, “let’s go put an order in for some food for you.”

 

John watches as Sherlock goes over to the barista’s counter and speaks to him calmly, gesturing at the baby in his arms. The man calls over a sweet looking waitress who coos over Rosie immediately. Sherlock smiles at her civilly and at once all of the anger is ebbed out of John. Dammit, he was an idiot. He gets up, leaving his coat on the table and sneaks towards the back of the restaurant, through the door he’d seen Josh exit. He finds the blonde man just outside a door down the hall leading to an alley behind the restaurant. The guy is smoking and fingering a piece of paper in his other hand nervously. When he notices it’s John who’s walked out, he startles.

 

“Oh!” Josh exclaims, “Doctor Watson, Sir, hello, can I –er, sorry– your server will be right with you–”

 

John doesn’t say anything until the poor frightened waiter stops talking, just stares at him evenly. To be honest John can’t really see what Sherlock saw in him. He’s rather short, like John, and yes, probably well built under that uniform, but his face isn’t particularly attractive. He looks like an ordinary bloke, his sandy blonde hair is cut short but in no particular style. “No.” John finally says, “I came to apologize. I was… bit not nice.”

 

Josh looks somewhat stunned by this, “Oh, um. Yes, well, thank you, Doctor,” He smiles, “and um… for what it’s worth – not that it’s any of my business or anything, but I hope you don’t mind me saying – he loves you quite a lot.”

 

John raises a brow at that, leaning back against the opposite wall, “Yeah?” He asks, “Not so much at the moment I think.”

 

Josh’s smile grows into something more reassuring and he says, “Nah, little lover’s spat, that’s all.”

 

“You think?” John replies, smiling weakly.

 

“Positive.” Josh replies, and after a short silence continues, “You want to know what he gave me? Here on this piece of paper?”

 

John looks at the man with interest but thinks better of it. No, as much as he was curious to know what it was, if not a phone number, he really couldn’t possibly interfere, “No, that’s alright it really isn’t any of my business…” He starts.

 

Josh grins charmingly, “It’s really fine, Doctor Watson. I’m sure he won’t mind if I tell you, and I don’t mind easing your mind,” and he looks very sincere as he unfolds the piece of paper. On it is written a phone number, but it isn’t Sherlock’s. Above the number is simply a letter – the letter ‘J’. “It’s the phone number of another acquaintance of Sherlock’s,” Josh explains, “He said,” and here he blushes, “– he said he thinks I should call him, and that… and that I would find him to be, and I quote, ‘if not a bit overly sentimental at least a very good lay.’ Oh but –” Josh seems to kick himself mentally, “I probably shouldn’t have told you that last bit.” He laughs nervously, rambling now, “To be fair he also said that this guy and I could be very good together.”

 

John huffs out an amused breath, “It’s really fine,” he comments, “I’m glad you told me. Thank you.”

 

Josh hangs his head in embarrassment, “It’s not a problem,” then raising his head gestures to the door, “Well, I’d better get back to work.”

 

John nods, “Yes, and I’d better get back to Sherlock.” Both men return to the restaurant, John holding the door open for Josh as he allows the man to walk back in. They share a last polite exchange and John returns to the table, where he finds Sherlock spoon feeding Rosie some soft fruits and cereal and a plate of a freshly laid out full English breakfast in both his and John’s place.

 

“Satisfied?” Sherlock asks, not looking at John and still sounding angry.

 

John takes Sherlock’s free hand until Sherlock turns to him. His eyes are still lit with fury. John takes hold of Sherlock’s other hand and brings it to himself, kissing Sherlock’s palm where it meets the wrist. “I’m an idiot,” John confesses, “I’m sorry.”

 

Sherlock pouts and attempts to continue to look affronted, though all the tension has fallen from his shoulders now and his eyes look more relaxed, “Yes, well, I suppose I knew that going in.” Sherlock replies.

 

John laughs, releasing his hand, “Wanker,” he replies.

 

Sherlock’s lips twitch around a grin, “Yes, and I rather think you enjoy it – Particularly enjoyed it in the shower this morning,” he teases.

 

That causes John to explode into a fit of giggles, which in turn makes Sherlock laugh as well. “Oh, Sherlock,” John breathes, “I love you, you mad bastard.”

 

Sherlock’s smile has fully returned to his face now and his eyes twinkle with mirth as he answers sweetly, “I love you too, silly idiot.”

 

 

 

 

**Part 3: A Song for Eurus ~~(but mostly for John and just played for Eurus)~~**

 

The song was pure joy. It was the golden light of the sun on a summer’s day. It was the magic of the first snowfall of winter. It was the blossoms blooming in spring. It was the warmth of cinnamon and the crunch of leaves beneath your feet in the fall. It was beauty and life and freedom. And it was more than that as well. It was pleasure, such as she had never known. It was an euphoria so pure and yet so bold and scorching with the flame of desire. The song carries with it a feeling such as Eurus has never experienced herself. The closest emotion she could mention is the feeling of her brother’s arms around her when he’s finally solved her puzzle and saved her from herself, but even that feeling was nothing compared to the purity and the sheer joy of this song and she certainly felt no desire for him in that way. No, this song was special. This song was what the other composers, the ones she’d thought she understood, aspired to create. It was a masterpiece, and it brought tears to her eyes in a soft envy.  
  
In this moment, as her big brother performed for her this song that was so incredibly precious, miraculous even, Eurus felt the loss of her opportunity to feel this for anyone incredibly deeply. She felt sad that she almost didn’t understand it, that she probably would never experience it with another human being. It was rather sad and more than a little infuriating, but Eurus held no contempt for her brother. Instead of anger with him, she felt honored that he would share this piece of himself with her. She felt pleased that he wasn’t afraid to allow her to see this thing that he had that she might be tempted to covet. This is what he’d tried to explain to her.

 

He’d had sex, but that sort of carnal pleasure could never make him play a song like this. No, this song was more than that. This song was Love, with a capital L, and Eurus didn’t know why the capitalization of the word was important, or indeed why it felt so accurate that it was, but she could almost feel it, just by listening to the sound of it. She could almost taste it on her tongue and feel it on her skin and it – It was beautiful.

 

 

 

 

\--------

 

 

They lay together on the couch, John, with a sleeping Rosie on his chest, with his head resting on Sherlock's belly, as they watch random crap telly. Sherlock is distractedly carding his fingers through John's hair when John asks, "Sherlock?"

 

Continuing to pet John's hair Sherlock asks, "Hmm?"

 

"Can I ask you something?" John continues.

 

"Mmm, go ahead," Sherlock says, a little wrinkle forming in his brow, but his attention still seemingly not on John.

 

John takes a deep breath and starts, "The other night, when we... kissed for the first time..."

 

Now Sherlock looks at John, his curiosity peaked at John's hesitation, "Yes, I recall...?"

 

John smiles nervously, looking up at the upside-down image of Sherlock's face from his position. He pauses, gets his bearings and finally asks, "What did The Woman want?"

 

And that makes Sherlock roll his eyes fondly. He reaches a long arm over the back of the sofa, where Sherlock's phone is sitting precariously, and scrolls swiftly through his messages. He pulls up the last one he got from Irene and shows it to John.

 

John takes the phone in one hand to try and read it better and huffs in amusement when he sees the words that are marked on the screen under The Woman's moniker. The message says, simply,

 

"Go get him, Tiger."

 

 

 

THE END

 

 

(Officially)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rosie ships her dads! Can you fault her for wanting her dads to be in a healthy relationship together so she can have two cool dads? Nope.
> 
> Let me explain a thing:  
> Josh is the only boy i named (and i named him Josh so that Sherlock wouldn't get in trouble when he made J- and Jo- noises while gettin it on) that Sherlock slept with and I couldn't just leave him hanging with no text reply. He and the second guy Sherlock slept with in the story that I didn't name - are officially dating now, and yes, the guy's anme starts with J, like Josh's because I needed something for Sherlock to write on the paper and I thought it would be funny if I continued with the theme of Sherlock's lovers having J names. But yes, everyone gets a happy ending! Woo!
> 
> Did you like the bit with Irene? Hahaha! That harpy. I love her.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this!  
> As always, thank you for reading!
> 
> -B

**Author's Note:**

> The work is complete now! Thanks for your support!  
> Love, B.  
> ps. follow me on tumblr for drabbles, johnlock posts and reblogs as well as fan-art and fic ideas that I might have to write.  
> just remember to remove all the spaces!  
> https : / / blackr0s3blade . tumblr . com /  
> 


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